And I Love Her
by lulu-ny
Summary: The path of Seattle CEO and sexual Dominant Christian Grey briefly crosses one night with new grad Anastasia Steele's and he becomes fixated on her. Soon after, fate brings them together in unlikely circumstances and he begins to realize she's pulling bricks from his meticulously constructed ivory tower. Next he must come to grips with the fact that he's...falling in love? WTF?
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Christian's POV: The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face

"Sir, may I speak?"

My submissive is sitting across the table from me and we're just finishing a lovely dinner Gail prepared for us. I feel expansive even though Jade had disobeyed one of my primary directives this past week. I learned from Sawyer who is charged with her security that she stepped out to dinner on Wednesday with another man—one of an age and disposition so as to be a potential romantic candidate. As per our agreement, she is not permitted to see any man who is not a relative at any time during our arrangement unless she secures my prior approval. She did not.

What brings me up short is my reaction: I tend to be a very jealous man; however, I find myself angrier by the disrespect she showed me than jealous over any potential rival for her attentions.

Right now, however, I'm actually grateful for her transgression for it provided the justification for punishment and I'd been feeling the need to wield one of the canes that hang prominently on the rear wall in my dungeon. Last night I exorcised the demons riding my shoulders so relentlessly of late, and was well within my contractual rights to do so.

At six o'clock on the dot I heard the soft ding announcing the arrival of the elevator and pictured the silent swish of the opening doors. I met her at the threshold of the great room.

"In the dungeon in ten minutes," is all I said, no greeting, not even a smile of welcome. My anger at her disrespect was fueling me but I will never allow it to control me in my playroom—it's too dangerous. Being a Dominant is all about control so I practiced my breathing exercises to wrest the calm I needed from the mayhem swirling in my head.

I'd been ready for the last hour so the final few minutes were torturously protracted but finally the ten minutes were up and I entered the room. Jade was in place, naked, her face down.

"Stand and follow me," I said curtly and turned, heading over to the couch on the other side of the room. Once there I turned her around and bound her wrists behind her back, then spun her around and sat down on the couch. "Kneel."

She dropped to her knees in front of me and I took out my cock and put one hand on the nape of her neck, pulling her head forward. When it was close enough, I tapped the head of it on her lips and she opened. I yanked her mouth down my cock and leaned back. Jade is good at giving head but she likes to have her hands free and that's why I bound them. She also dislikes deepthroating so I ensured that I hit the back of her throat a few times. She was in need of reminding of who's in control in this TPE so I felt it necessary to push her limits aggressively.

"Ah," the moan escaped me before I could swallow it. My orgasm approached and though I wanted to push it back, I needed to continue the reminder. Just before I came, I pulled out of her mouth with a loud, wet pop and fisting the base of my cock, spurted hot semen all over her face. I made sure it was everywhere but near her eyes and then I took two fingers and finger-painted over almost every inch of her face.

"Get up." When she complied I grasped her elbow and led her to the floor-to-ceiling mirror in the corner. Going up close I reached up to shine the light directly onto her face. The semen hadn't dried yet so it was glistening on her cheeks and some was now dripping down her neck.

"Look in the mirror and tell me what you see, Jade."

She straightened her back. "I see myself, sir."

"And what's on your face?"

"Your ejaculate, sir."

"Why did I come all over your face, Jade?"

Silence. Then… "Because you wanted to, sir."

I leaned in close and growled in her ear, "I marked you, Jade, to remind you that you belong to me. You are not free to see whomever you wish. You are mine. Am I perfectly clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Now you will wear my come until the end of the night. Follow me now to the cross."

Meekly she followed and I quickly strapped her in. I had originally planned a suspension scene for this weekend but I was much too agitated to commit to such a labor-intensive prep. I wanted to beat and fuck her too badly. When she was tethered to the St. Andrew's cross, her back toward me, I reached for the Hitachi and took it to her clit mercilessly, no warning, no warm-up. It's a powerful vibrator and I knew it hurt at first but soon enough she was wriggling in pleasure. When her muscles began to contract, I removed it.

"Good girl," I murmured as she bit back her moan of frustration. She was in for quite a ride tonight though. I ran the vibrator up and down her legs, up the crack of her ass, up her spine until goose bumps emerged. When I was sure her orgasm had receded, I took it to her clit again, putting it on a faster speed and when she got close, slowed it way the fuck down. Up and down, up and down until her impressive control was shredded and she shrieked in frustration and discomfort. Behind my zipper my cock bobbed for attention at the sound.

Allowing my lips to touch the shell of her ear, I whispered, "Your pleasure is at my discretion. Do you think I should allow it to you?"

"Only if you think so, sir."

"Hmm, good answer. Almost too good. But I asked for your opinion. Do you think you deserve pleasure, Jade?"

"No, sir."

"Then we're in agreement." I put down the vibrator and picked up the cane. Before I did anything else, I wrapped the black silk blindfold around her eyes; it would increase the intensity of her pain and prevent any distraction. This punishment hopefully would be remembered and she wouldn't make the same mistake again.

"I do not share," I announced loudly, and on the tail of that declaration I let loose with a barrage of swats, waiting only for the pain to bloom before giving her the next. I started with her ass, first the left cheek, then the right. Then both together but low, at the top of her thighs. That hurts the most and she cried loudly on that one. After swatting each outer thigh, I decided she'd had enough; five would keep her remembering all weekend, as the cane was the wickedest of all the implements.

I kept her in position on the cross. Tossing the cane down and reaching both hands up to hold her corresponding wrists, I fucked her hard from behind. My hand snaked around to her clit, and my fingers began their assault. She was so primed and ready that I knew it wouldn't take much to push her over but I still wasn't sure if I'd allow it.

"You do not have my permission to come, Jade. Clear?"

"Yes, sir," she panted and I knew she was seconds away so I removed my hand and kept pumping hard into her. Jade was never able to reach orgasm through penetrative sex so the only way she'd come was with my hand on her clit. About to reach my own crisis point, I decided to be generous. My fingers found her clit again and pinched hard. The scream of her orgasm was so loud I suspected the pilots in the planes over my building must have been privy to it. That scream alone brought me to my own climax and I hung on to her wrists while I jerked my hips and emptied everything I had into her.

So tonight, the satisfaction of her punishment last night still in attendance, I indulge her.

"As we are still having dinner, you may speak freely, Jade."

"Thank you, sir. I have to attend a wedding the weekend after next. Since it is during our contractual time I wondered if you would mind accompanying me as my plus-one?"

Taken aback by her temerity, I stare at her for a full minute before responding. "Jade, you know we are never seen in public together. Moreover, why am I hearing about it only now? Surely you knew about the date well in advance, and the fact that it would intrude on my time?"

She flushes, her focus drops to the floor. On the surface her submission is perfect but I'm beginning to learn otherwise. "I apologize for the late notice, sir. I wasn't planning on going but my parents became angry with me when I informed them I wouldn't be in attendance. The bride is my only first cousin and they want me there."

"I see. I will expect you to make up the missed day during the week, as I'm sure you are aware."

She nods. "Your answer then is no to attending with me, sir?"

"Of course my answer is no."

Her eyes flash hotly for a moment and then it's gone. "May I take someone else then, sir?"

Through narrowed eyes I observe her. Is she interested in this man she spent time with last week? Is that what this is all about? I clear my throat. "Jade, this man, Chase Palmer, are you romantically interested in him?"

"No, not in _him_ , sir." Boldly she looks me directly in the eye. She intentionally put the emphasis on the male pronoun—it wasn't a slip of the tongue by any means. My heart starts to thud, the first sign of an impending anxiety attack.

"Then in whom are you interested, Jade?" I ask, knowing the answer already and the necessary consequence. It's not as if I haven't been down this tired old road many times before.

"You, sir."

"To clarify, are you telling me you've developed some kind of emotional attachment to me, Jade?"

"Yes, sir," she says in a voice devoid of breath.

I sit back, actually relieved it was direct and quick, and I feel the approaching wave of anxiety begin to recede. When this happened with previous submissives I waited until the weekend was concluded to terminate the contract. During the following week, they'd be notified in writing via courier. I would include any and all deeds if applicable, of any automobile or real estate I'd purchased for them. Their clothing left at my penthouse and any other personal belongings would be professionally packed and shipped to their home address along with a reminder that the NDA would remain in force permanently and that all gifts were contingent upon the continued honoring of that non-disclosure agreement.

With Jade I deviate from the norm primarily because I know she's always calm, never given to temper tantrums or hysteria of any stripe. Though I was looking forward to the rest of the weekend with her, I am too unsettled by her admission to care about forgoing the satisfaction. Since I'm not saying anything in response to her outrageous admission, she rises gracefully to her feet and begins clearing the table of dishes. I do nothing but watch her silently, waiting for her to return to the table, which she does shortly.

That's when I get up, walk briskly into my office, and retrieve the original signed contract from my locked desk drawer. I stride back into the great room where she is now perched on the edge of the long sofa, her face chalky white, her hands twisting together. It is the only sign that she is discomfited.

When I am directly in front of her and have her complete attention, I show her what I'm holding and then proceed to tear the document into two pieces and then four. Her face goes whiter still.

"Jade, I am terminating our contract as of," I look at my watch, "seven-thirty p.m. tonight, May 22nd, 2015. Any and all of your personal property that is currently in your bedroom or around the apartment will be shortly returned to you at your home address. I want to thank you for sharing your submission with me. It was a gift that I very much appreciated and I wish you good luck in the future. Whether you choose to continue in this lifestyle or not, I do hope you look back fondly on our time together."

I call for Taylor. "Please gather your belongings now. Taylor will drive you home."

The most painful part of the break is upon me as I'm forced to watch her stand up on shaky legs and scan the room, looking for the things she brought with her last night and casually left in the great room: her bag, her sweater, and her cellphone. She has yet to utter a single word or even sound. I give her credit for keeping it together, her fortitude the only reason I felt confident in doing this in person with her. Scouring my recollection, I'm almost sure it is the only time I handled a termination in this impulsive manner. Seeing her stricken face makes me almost regret doing it in such a way: I do not like to suffer, nor do I enjoy causing others to suffer, outside of a scene.

...

"This is Grey."

"Christian?"

I sigh. "Who else would be answering my personal cell phone? What can I do for you, Elliot?"

"You're not the only Grey, you know. Could be Dad answering your phone."

"Talk or I'm hanging up."

"Fine. Are you free on Friday night?"

"Why?" I can hear the suspicion thick in my own voice and it makes me snicker. I don't trust my brother.

"I need you to do me a favor, bro. You remember Talia? Talia Jansen?"

"Vaguely. What about her?" I've taken the call in my car and I'm about to arrive home—I want to bring him to his point.

"She's been a solid friend to me of late—a reliable sounding board. Shit of it is, I've been in need of one. Anyway, she needs to pay off a few bills and her family is pretty much bankrupt so she's taking on high-end escort work. Very nervous about it. She has to go to this party and asked me to show up for moral support. Show interest in her in case no one else does—which I'm sure won't happen but she's hedging her bets. It's a swanky address… might be fun."

My pulse quickens. As soon as he said high-end escorts, swanky address, I knew he had to be referring to Irina's. Shit. I keep my voice level. "Why don't you just pay her bills? You have the money."

"I tried; she won't hear of it."

Deep breath. "All right. How does it involve me?"

"I thought you would come with. I want to help her out but honestly I feel weird about it myself. I figured if you come along, I'd feel better. Strength in numbers. It might be fun. If not, it's sure to be educational."

Checking my rearview I see a car behind me that's been following me for a half mile. Rather than pulling into my garage, I drive another two blocks and loop around. I lose the black Acura on the first half of the loop. Just wrought nerves.

Interpreting my silence as refusal, Elliot makes a sound of annoyance that travels fiber-optically to where I sit. "How many times do I ask you for a favor, Christian?"

"All right, fine. I just don't see what the problem is. You're a big boy."

"One of the problems is the fact that I probably have a few exes represented on that escort line-up."

"Pfft. Well, I don't want to slut-shame but…"

"Then shut up and don't. Look, I just don't want to go alone. Will you or won't you, fucktard?"

I sigh. "What time on Friday?"

I can hear the smug grin in his damn voice when he answers, "Pick me up at seven-thirty. I think the meet and greet starts at eight. Thanks, bro."

I disconnect before I say, "Yeah, well fuck you too." What a pain Elliot can be. Since we were children, Elliot was always trying to forge a closer relationship with me, emulating his older brother but my damage was set in by the time he was born so I always discouraged it.

As I exit the car I catch a glimpse of a slim brunette from the corner of my eye and suddenly she's there in my brain again, that woman. My God, I saw her once and for a fraction of a second at that and she's been haunting me ever since. She walked by my table at Dashiell's, gliding by like a swan on still water, and just like that I couldn't evict her from my head.

My date that night was mediocre at best— the food bland and the conversation more so. It served me right to suffer another dimwit model since I only asked her out based on her cool blonde good looks. But then _she_ happened by and I followed, leaving the table in all but my physical body.

Who was she?

Fortunately for me, it didn't take Welch long to find out. She'd been with a large party at the eatery—a graduation party we later learned—so determining her identity took all of two days and a hefty tip to the maître d' on duty that night. I fucking love having boatloads of money.

I had her name but what to do with it? It was highly unlikely that she was in the lifestyle though at first I convinced myself she must be and that I had seen her around. Why else would she hold such instant fascination for me?

To say the feelings she induced in me were unsettling was like saying hell was tropical. I ordered a full report on the girl and tried to get on with my life but every night she had the starring role in my dreams. The upside was when I had such dreams I couldn't have nightmares, so pining over a woman I'd never met felt like a godsend compared to the suffocating black closets of my nightmares.

What the fuck was going on with me?

Once I'm in my apartment I punch in Irina's private cell number and she answers on the top of the second ring. "Hello, my lovely."

"Irina, have a bit of a ticklish situation."

"Oh?"

"It appears that one of my brother's friends is in your new chorus line of escorts. She asked Elliot if he would show up at Friday's gala… to use Elliot's words, for moral support. Elliot also requires moral support, apparently, and asked me to accompany him."

Irina laughs, a clear musical tone that most would find lovely but it sends ice up my spine. "I see. Don't worry, love. You'll all be wearing masks and it's by invitation only. I'm not sure how your Elliot snagged an invite but just about every invited client is on the VIP list with few exceptions. Privacy will be guarded and no one is in the habit of acknowledging or outing anyone else—you know that."

"Yes, but I wanted to give you a heads up."

"Duly noted. Will you stay for the late play afterward?"

"Yes, I think I will. It's time I started casting about for a new submissive, I think."

"Would you like me to do some prelim for you?"

"No. Thank you but no. I might just watch some scenes and look around initially."

"Fine, darling. Looking forward…"

Gail rings me for dinner just as I'm trying to decide between collapsing into a comfortable chair to listen to music or heading to the music conservatory to play my own. Music always feeds my soul especially when I've had a shitty day at work and today qualified, possibly going into the annals of shitdom. I head into the dining room.

"Mr. Grey, would you like wine or mineral water with dinner?"

"Both, I think. Gail, can you make sure that Janie cleans all the rooms on the bottom floor, including the locked one, before Friday? You have the code: you may open it for her when you're both here."

"Of course, Mr. Grey," she says as she expertly decants the wine and pours the mineral water. "Enjoy your dinner, sir."

I nod and she is dismissed. I've decided to be optimistic about finding a new sub at Irina's soiree. It's been two long months of celibacy and no matter how punishing my workouts, I'm beginning to feel the desperate itch to indulge in my personal brand of sin. I have to find a willing sub even if I'm forced to lower my standards a half inch.

...

Tonight came the nightmare, the first one in almost three weeks. I'm young and alone. It's dark, black really, and I'm scared, cold, hungry, upset. Forgotten and neglected. Completely ignored. I'm sure my birth mother was the genesis for all my nightmares. Even her extreme domineering behavior felt like love to me when compared to those other times, those times when she was otherwise engaged. Too busy to remember she had a little boy who was desperate for attention, for love, for a taste of the milk of human kindness. Even my father doesn't know the things I do about my birth mother, the fucking whore. Carrick doesn't deserve such corrosive knowledge, the kind that eats away at your guts until there's nothing left but an ulcerated sore. No, it's something that I bear alone.

It's why I never let emotion infiltrate my sexual liaisons. I've been on the short end of a relationship supposedly based on attachment—I'm never going there again.

And that's precisely the catalyst for my allowing no emotional involvement in my D/s relationships. As soon as I suspect any creeping in, it's all over. It's also why I've been so disturbed by my extreme reaction to a beautiful woman with long dark hair sashaying past my restaurant table. What the hell is wrong with me?

...

We don our masks the moment the valet drives off with my car. I hear Elliot's nervous chuckle as he covers his face and I inwardly smile, thinking how much he has in store for him this evening. Irina greets us at the door, showing me no more attention than anyone else. She's always been a consummate actress when necessary.

I switch on my public persona. Most people probably consider it just this side of civil but from my perspective it's downright gregarious. Manners are important to some but action is what drives me, taking precedence over all. I cannot suffer fools and I don't waste time on pleasantries when I could be getting things done. Still I've learned to make an effort at the social graces in order to flourish. Everything in life hinges on tradeoffs. Successful people learn that fact early.

Drinks in hand we are led into the ballroom. I'm looking forward to conversing with the escorts, many of whom are submissives in our lifestyle—Irina sees to that, poaching from clubs and private parties to ensure a continuous supply for the VIP Doms that number among her elite clientele. I will have to at some point separate from Elliot—he has no inkling of my secret life and I prefer to keep it that way.

I spot a young woman who captures my interest right away. She has long straight black hair that I can twist several times around my wrist—a Dom's readymade leash—and she looks to have some Asian blood. A very pretty woman, I think, as I saunter in her direction. Until I reach the leathersex room, however, I'll keep the conversation general and clean. Once I get to the private party later tonight, I'll start my hunt for a new sub in earnest.

Every time I think of making that new acquisition, inking that new contract, rather than the exhilaration I usually feel igniting fire in my blood at the prospect of a new woman to fuck, the beautiful mystery girl materializes in my mind's eye. Wouldn't it be perfect if she were submissive? I can so easily picture her arranged seductively on my blood-red leather bench, her ivory skin glowing in sharp contrast.

One thing that sends me thrills without fail is having a conversation with a woman I've never met before with no holds barred. I can walk up to a submissive, force her to look me in the eye, and in a conversational tone ask her about hard limits involving my cock and her pussy or anything else on her body. Even though many submissives are seasoned in the lifestyle, that kind of initial boldness always garners me an unintentional gasp or two and I derive extreme satisfaction from it. Well, that and knowing that I'll fuck her before the night is out and fuck her twenty ways from Sunday. Ever since I saw the woman in the restaurant I've imagined having such a conversation with her, watching her eyes widen and her cheeks turn pink. It gets me hard just envisioning it. But then I feel something akin to guilt ruin the fantasy, for taking an angel like that down into the dirt with me. The woman's even ruined my fantasies.

Tonight I need to keep in mind that I'm here with Elliot. Though I'm not in the market for an escort, I play the game I'm here for. Cammie is the Asian woman's name and we briefly discuss her escort contract limitations. By the way her eyes are devouring me, I suspect Cammie is more than interested in my being a client. After a minute or so of back and forth, I wish her a good evening and move on but before I get very far, Elliot is at my elbow, wide-eyed and drooling over the assortment of women. He hands me a flute of champagne and I take a minute to allow my eyes to roam the room.

And there she is.

All the oxygen leaves the room until I'm breathless. She's in blue, a vivid blue, and I'm frozen in place. Anastasia Steel is her name, if Welch's report is accurate and it always is. A beautiful name for a devastatingly beautiful woman. Elliot sees where my gaze is laser-focused and tugs my arm.

"Come on. Let's go meet her."

A/N: Just a note to let you know that I have a concurrent story called Ripple Effects on FF that parallels this one, only it's told from Ana's POV and is much further into the story. :)


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"Too bad we missed the intro," Elliot gripes as we stroll toward the girl who's been haunting me, but I barely register that he's speaking because my mind is a maelstrom of colliding emotions. Is this why she made such a deep impression on me? Have I seen her here before or is she one of the new ones Irina mentioned? I can easily get the answers from Irina but I want to know now. Yesterday.

Beside me, Elliot's running his mouth up a blue streak but I'm barely paying attention. I barely pay attention to my brother in normal circumstances but tonight I have substantial reason to ignore him. As far as I'm concerned, it could be an empty room with just her and me.

 _Her and me_ : even the words are volatile to my soul. The way I'm acting after merely setting eyes on this woman… it's just not like me. I'm a man who knows what he wants and gets it. My time is more valuable than the rarest of minerals and I act accordingly. Time wasted on anything other than important business is just that—a waste. Misguided fools are forever clawing after money and power and fame, but they never realize that time is vastly more precious than the other three, and it's a lesson usually only learned when one runs out of it and it's too late. Too late and no amount of money, power, or fame could buy you more of it—an epic fail. It's the ultimate cosmic practical joke—for most but not me. I recognized it long ago and try to make every minute count.

As for love—love is for the weak and I am anything but. My early life forged me in impervious steel and I never allow myself to falter to the standards of others. All of which begs the question… why the fuck am I acting this way?

My heartbeat feels like a tribal steel drum banging away against my chest wall, and my mouth is dry. This kind of shit never happens to me. I can't even remember ever being this nervous—maybe the first day of freshman high school?

Okay, fuck this.

Taking charge of myself, I stride confidently toward the woman. She's just another girl, pretty—okay, beautiful—but nothing out of the ordinary apart from her looks. I must be reacting strongly to her because of something going on in my psyche that I'm not even aware of, something that has nothing whatsoever to do with her—the aftereffects of my abrupt separation from Jade, possibly. Lack of sex, escalation of my nightmares, stress at work—something other than a woman whom I've never met wreaking havoc with my soul.

I notice she's with another female; the friend leans in close, saying something to Anastasia, causing the beauty to turn and look directly at us just as we approach. It almost halts me midstride, one foot in the air. Her eye color is extraordinary… I'd thought the photos Welch attached to the report could not possibly be true to life for her eyes were astonishing in hue. In person I'd had but a fleeting glimpse of her as she went past me so seeing them in person, up close and personal, affects me instantly. When she trains them on me I get the disturbing sensation that she can clearly see right through my carefully constructed façade, see into all the dark, dirty places underneath. It shakes me. Everything about this woman seems to shake me. Inhaling deeply, I smile, trying my best to appear unaffected by her ravishing beauty. "You look strangely familiar," I say, striving for a cool and confident tone of voice.

"Why _strangely…_ or shouldn't I ask?"

Sometimes a very beautiful woman is ruined by her voice. I've met a few who, if they'd just keep quiet, look like angels dropped from the heavens but as soon as they open their mouths, the image is instantly dispelled, melting away like a snowflake on the tongue. When Anastasia speaks and I hear her clear, melodic voice, I nearly fall to my knees in gratitude to the gods that her voice is as appealing as her face and body.

"Oh, there's nothing strange about you, Ana," I say as suavely as I know how, calling her by the name she's using at the party. "It's just that Madame Irina mentioned that you were brand new here and I tend to doubt I know you outside of this realm… unless you have a day job in the corporate world? I suppose that's possible." I take a chance that she _is_ brand new but she almost has to be or I would definitely know her by now. Then again, I don't make use of any escorts, just the ones who double as subs.

"No, actually, I don't. Until very recently, I've been a full-time student." She tilts her head, her glossy hair cascading over one silky shoulder. "I think I can assure you, fairly positively, that we've never met before—if that's a concern."

"No, not a concern… merely an observation." I pause for a moment, her gaze holding me hostage and completely derailing my train of thought. "I suppose this is the point in the conversation when I'm to ask you what services you're offering?" At asking this, the million-dollar question, my pulse rate goes into Mach 10.

Anastasia casts her eyes down and I want to order her not to do that please, that I need to see those eyes, gaze into those azure blue irises that captivate my soul like the ripples on the deep sea… but of course I say nothing. She continues, "Apparently it may also signal the end of the conversation or so that's been my very limited experience. I'm offering only my companionship."

I fucking love that answer—my lips automatically stretch wide across my face. "Refreshing response, Ana. Usually I need my iPhone to record the answers, they're so lengthy in what they're willing to accommodate. I'm sorry that others have walked away." I'm sincere in that sentiment.

"Are you saying you won't be among that group? I mean," she arches perfectly shaped brows, "you don't seem the type to require paid companionship."

"No, I don't," I say and then it's too late to retrieve the arrogant remark. I see the light dim in her mesmerizing blue eyes and I feel a stab of regret that I allowed her to see my petty side so quickly.

I'll accept that her resulting smirk is justified. "If I were allowed to ask questions, I'd want to know why you're here, in that case."

"Nice roundabout way of subverting the rules," I counter. "What did you study in school?"

Now it's her turn to smile broadly. "Nice roundabout way of avoiding the roundabout question."

I laugh. "Touché. Honestly, I'd rather not explain what brings me here, but I can say with no duplicity that I am very pleased to make your acquaintance, Ana."

"Likewise."

"Is it ungentlemanly for me to ask the same question of you after just declining to answer it myself?"

She hesitates, her china-blue eyes journeying to her shoes. My eyes follow hers and I see she's wearing strappy stilettos that peek out coyly from beneath her gown, and even her feet are fucking gorgeous. My God but she's the total package, I conclude, after scrutinizing her up close, searching without success for any kind of physical flaw. After a moment she begins to respond to my perhaps unfair question. "I find myself with unexpected debt and require extra income."

Her soft voice and abrupt change in demeanor cause me to regret my probing but not nearly enough to stop. I want to know why she's here—I want to know everything about her. "Mmm, well, education loans are not unexpected so I'll assume it's something else motivating you. Do you find this type of work appealing or do you feel pressured into it?"

She smiles politely but I see her mesmerizing baby blues spark. Is she angry at my questions or does she too sense this thing between us, an electric charge pulsing wildly between us, an irresistible magnetism I've never experienced before? "I don't feel pressured, per se, but it's not at all what I aspire to do, to pretty much understate my situation."

"I see. I'm sorry to hear that, Ana. Truth be told, you do not seem like the type to be here."

Elliot returns improvidently… but then he always is—improvident. "Time to move along, bro. You have to spread your sunshine more equitably among the ladies," he says and winks at Ana, a moronic grin plastered on his face.

When I resist, he persists in the effort. "Go on. I'll keep this one company while you meet others."

"No, I don't think so," I say, glaring at him.

"Now, now, you can't monopolize this lady. It's my turn to charm her."

"I don't think there's the slightest danger of that happening," I snap. I want him to disappear right this instant.

"Move along now. Step away from the pretty girl…"

Before I lay him out flat right her in the room and possibly get my suit wrinkled, I remember civility and give in. "Very well. It's been indeed a pleasure to meet you, Ana. I wish you a good night."

As my feet take me away from her, my heart rate begins to calm. What the fuck? Elliot was being his usual dick self but he actually did me a favor, forcing me away from her. This mere slip of a girl has this inordinately disturbing effect on me and I don't know why nor can I say with any certainty that I've ever felt this way before. I'm hard-pressed to identify the feelings she provokes in me.

I'm conflicted over her answers to my questions. On one hand, the fact that she really is the innocent I'd suspected her to be elates me; however, it also means there's no place for her in my life. Grudgingly shuffling my feet in another direction I'm convinced that what I need to do is put this girl out of my mind and get serious about finding another submissive. That is my plan for the night, not entertaining pretty little girls.

For the next forty-five minutes or so, I pass the time discussing business matters with Irina and reassuring Elliot's friend James who is interested in Talia, the woman working as the escort. Determined not to spare another look in Ana's direction, I distract myself as much as I can as the introduction part of the evening comes to a close.

Elliot finds me in a corner speaking to James as the people begin to file out of the ballroom.

"James, are you leaving with Talia?"

The tall lanky man frowns. "No, apparently she's been invited to stay the night by the host. You wanna go hoist a few?"

"Sure, why not? Christian?"

My great escape presents itself. "No thanks. I have something to do so I'll take a rain-check."

Shooting me a wry look, Elliot comments, "You know how many rain-checks you owe me, dude? A lifetime's worth by now."

"Yes, well, someday I'll do my penance and spend a week with you, God help us both. But not tonight." I turn around and walk in the direction of the men's room and when I get far enough away, I detour, hoping the two of them will head out without further thought of me. I need to get downstairs soon for I promised Irina I'd do a brief scene with a cat.

I rap my knuckles on the locked door twice and then a third time after a beat and it opens. I step in and immediately Irina waves me over to the other side of the room. "The St. Andrew's cross by the swing is where you'll do your scene, love. I have the girl on the cross and a new Dom wants to practice on her with a cat. Will you give him some tips before you take over?"

I look over and briefly observe the man she refers to, as I remove my suit jacket. "Yes, Irina, no problem." Before I get two steps away, she grasps my shirt collar. "Remember when you used to call me Mistress, love? Wasn't that long ago, now was it?"

I smirk. "To me it feels like eons." I wink at her annoyed expression and make my way over to the designated cross. Normally all the scenes just starting and the sexual energy in the room would have excited me but tonight I'm not feeling it. I blame it on the damn girl—I think it's because I know Ana won't be in here and that knowledge sort of ruins the anticipation of the evening for me. When I reach the cross, I see the woman strapped naked onto it is none other than the one who was with Ana earlier. I wonder if Ana knows what her friend is up to.

"Are you doing the scene with the cat tonight?" the short beefy man standing there flicking the whip at her back asks me when I park just outside of his whip's trajectory.

"That's right. Why don't you practice and I'll watch for a few minutes?"

"Yes, thanks. I'm a little new at all of this and I don't want to hurt the sub."

For the next few minutes I give the novice Dominant pointers on wielding a whip with finesse, and Minx, the young lady strapped to the cross, is ready to move into sub space but he is keeping her in the room with his inconsistent strokes. I could put her there in under a minute. Her eyes are starting to glaze over from the painful stripes he's landed; it's easy to tell he's a novice the way he's marked her up. I step around the cross to observe her face carefully and my eyes drop down to look at what's showing of the rest of her body. The girl's got big tits, shiny from sweat and bouncing from her futile attempts to evade the cat. My dick wakes up and begins to grapple with the zipper holding it in place.

Because we'll soon be switching places, I roll up my sleeves to get more comfortable just as the door bursts open, snatching everyone's attention from the glories of the room. A terrified-looking Anastasia explodes through the open doorway, with some lunatic hot on her heels trying to overtake her. Across the room, she and I lock eyes for a drawn-out moment, and then I watch hers roll up in her head and she begins to drop like a bag of cement to the floor. I rush over just barely managing to catch her before she hits the ground.

My mind is in a state of confused turmoil—she saw me here, sleeves rolled up, her friend naked and helpless in front of me. If Ana had any interest in me before, surely it had evaporated now. Fuck. Even though I had no plans to pursue her, it disturbs me that the option has been removed from me and not of my own doing.

No matter. There's no place in my life for a girl like her—or any girl.

Yet if that's true, then why do I feel awash in such overwhelming regret?

Meantime, two of the other girls come to her assistance so I shift my attention to the piece of shit that was trying to attack her. He's trying to escape the room but another man has blocked his way, holding his arm and preventing him from leaving. I stride up to him.

"You and I have a problem, asswipe."

"Fuck you. The bitch sends out one signal and then cries rape as soon as a man responds. It's none of your fucking business anyway."

"No? That's too bad because I'm in the mood to break someone's nose and I've decided it's going to be yours." Before the words are fully out of my mouth, I grab a tight fistful of his hair and shove his head down as I raise my knee to meet it, hearing the satisfying crunch of cartilage and bone crushing. He screams like a little girl and rears back away from me, stumbling and almost falling in the process. Blood is spurting energetically from his nose as I step into my kick, swing my hips and deliver the _coup de grâce_ —my roundhouse, perfected over many frustrating sessions with Claude Bastille. When my foot connects with flesh and bone, he goes down like a cartoon character and I'm done with him. Ripping off my white shirt that's now colorfully spattered with the asshole's blood, I return to Ana who is still lying on the floor, scoop her up, and turn to Irina who has since joined the mayhem.

"Direct me to her room," I order coldly. I'm pissed off at Irina, fair or not, and I hear the anger-soaked tone of my voice and I know she can too. Too bad. She shouldn't have drawn such an innocent into this den of iniquity.

"Yes. Right this way," she replies and heads toward the door of the room, seemingly anxious to be of assistance.

After I carry the little beauty to the bedroom Irina's assigned her for the night, I jot down a note for Minx to give to her when she awakens and I ask Irina for her attacker's information. Irina casts a suspicious eye on me at my latter request but provides it anyway. We leave the room together and as soon as the door closes I'm on her.

"You need better security, Irina," I snap. "Tonight just shows how poorly your parties are managed."

She flings back her straight blonde bob with a flick of her long neck. "Christian, you've been at me all evening with your little innuendos and snide remarks. What is the problem between us? It's only fair to clue me in, don't you think?"

Deeply inhaling I attempt to corral my anger, which is boomeranging from Ana, for putting herself in danger, to Irina, for allowing her to do so. "It was ill-advised of you to allow that particular young lady into your house of ill repute. She's not equipped in the least to deal with these predators."

Allowing an offended gasp to escape her, she says, "Predators? I take exception to that characterization. Most of my clients are upstanding men who want a little side fun, a pressure valve if you will. Since when do you judge others, Christian? Don't forget you live in a glass house."

I shake my head, annoyed beyond measure. I feel like throttling her at the moment. "Tell me, Irina, do you think Michael Phelan an upstanding man? For I will have to disagree."

With her face pinched tight, she snarls, "He is the exception to the rule. Moreover, he is no longer welcome in my home or among my client roster. Now climb down from your high horse for a minute and try to understand that I was attempting to help Ana—she finds herself in difficult straits. What is this all about anyway? Do you know her personally?" Her eyes narrow. "Are you fucking her?"

I pivot around for I cannot stomach any more of her at the moment.

"Answer me, please," she calls to the back of me as I rush to leave the establishment before I really lose it and burn yet another bridge—bridge burning being a singular talent of mine.

I'm done here. I came here wanting to begin my search for a new submissive but Ana changed my plans, unwittingly and innocently. The night has gone far too sour to salvage. I hate to admit it even to myself but I'm half relieved at escaping that room. For one thing, it holds too many negative memories for me from when I was Irina's submissive, and second, I'm suddenly not feeling any desire for one of those perfectly trained, perfectly obedient submissives. A girl named Anastasia is upending my life.

And I seem to be letting her do it.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Judith R. Still waiting for you to get in touch. You are the winner of the Twitter giveaway. :)

Chapter 3

Should I meet her? I'm sitting in Carson's inner office drinking a cup of sub par coffee. As soon as the tepid liquid floods my mouth, my first instinct is to spit it out. Unfortunately good manners dictate I swallow—as I so often instruct my subs. I grimace as it goes down hard. "This is swill, Carson. Surely at the hourly rates you charge you can afford some premium coffee?"

He laughs. "It _is_ premium coffee, but our assistants cannot make a decent cup to save their lives. It's either too weak or so strong you leave the office with a hairy chest.

I allow him a small grin but say nothing. Quiet unnerves even the most steely opponent so if you want information, you remain silent. The void will not endure for long as the weaker of the two opponents will always seek to fill it. Carson shortly proves my point.

"So are you going to stay to officially meet her or will you slink out?"

I scowl. "I don't slink, McEvoy… but I haven't yet decided what is the best course. Prudence would dictate that I do not allow her to learn my identity and that I walk away from her after lending her assistance."

"And? Will you be prudent?" It's easy to see the amusement in his eyes, annoying me considerably. I jerk my tie to loosen it. McEvoy seems to think he is an equal player with me but how wrong he is. I'm a big enough man not to have to show him the error of his ways.

"She's beautiful," I admit grudgingly, "and I find myself irresistibly drawn to her." I'm about to take another sip of coffee before I remember it's disgusting and I put the cup back down on the desk. "I'll make my decision when the moment is upon me." It's how I often do business too, finding that decision-making under pressure works well for me.

As we sit and stare at each other his intercom buzzes. "Yes?"

"Mr. McEvoy, Anastasia Steele is here to see you, sir."

Winking at me, he answers her, "Thank you. Please wait a full two minutes then show her into my office."

"Yes, sir."

I rise to my feet. "Where shall I wait should I decide to speak with her?"

"In my lounge. It's where I take my power naps," he quips with a smile, leading me into an attached room, reached through his private restroom. Inside, a small bed, lamp, and easy chair share the space with a library table that holds a desk phone and alarm clock. Carson gestures to the chair. "Make yourself comfortable, Grey. When my consult is through, I'll come and check in with you on how to proceed."

My silence serving as my assent, I seat myself at the chair, picking up a magazine flipping through it.

...

Less than forty-five minutes and one article on the new mass extinction later, he's back. "We're done, Christian, and I assure you that I can successfully assist your Ms. Steele with her legal issues. Shall I allow her to leave or do you want to speak with her?"

I've been mulling that very question since he left and it's zero hour now. I slowly rise to my feet and make my decision by the time I'm standing erect. "I would like to speak with her, thank you."

McEvoy gives me his oily lawyer smile and gestures to the door. "She's all yours, my friend. Good luck." He steps back to allow me to pass as he says, "I can understand your motivation, Grey. She's quite a beauty, if you don't mind my saying so."

I do mind but I reserve comment. My mind is swirling already, trying to decide how to handle the next ten minutes—I hardly have time to tell off the attorney. I focus my mind back on the matter at hand. "Did you secure her signature on the NDA?"

"Yes. I had to use the standard NDA we have on file for new employees at Grey Holdings. It's not entirely appropriate for the situation but it's the only one already drawn up."

I shrug. "It will do."

"Well then," he says, "We're all done. Good luck."

I don't believe in luck—people make or squander their own opportunities but again, I can't waste time on his nonsense. Taking a deep breath, I step through the door.

The sun is streaming through the open shades in Carson's office, a harsh light for many people's looks, but this girl shines luminously, her beauty undiminished by the unforgiving scrutiny of daylight. Again she takes my breath away, leaving me gasping for oxygen, my memory of her not doing her justice, as is becoming usual.

Her attention at the moment is on her phone so as I wait for her to notice me, I gather my wits. All too soon she looks up and I can hear her breath hitch in turn. It makes me smile: at least I'm not alone in feeling the electrified attraction.

"I believe a more formal introduction is in order."

"Yes, I think so." She stands to extend her hand.

I accept it and the moment her small hand is in mine I start to get aroused. As I shake, I say, "Hello, I'm Christian Grey. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Her blue eyes widen in surprise. "Anastasia Steele." She flashes me a beaming smile. "At Irina's, you said I looked familiar and I assured you we'd never met, which is true. However, I was dining in a local restaurant not too long ago and my friend pointed you out to me. Maybe that's why we seem familiar to one another."

"Oh?"

"Yes, my friend Kate's parents took us to Dashiell's to celebrate our graduation from UDub. As we were led to our table, we passed by yours." She pauses, only a shy smile on her downcast face. "Kate pointed you out to me."

I remember every moment, of course, but I pretend otherwise, glancing up at the ceiling as if searching for an elusive memory. "I actually seem to recall that, too. I saw you walk by and you looked like an angel."

Her responding laugh is a soft tinkling sound that makes me happy. "Funny because I thought your date looked like a Victoria's Secret model. Don't they call them angels?"

Nastassja _is_ a VS model but no sense telling her that—besides I wasn't with Nastassja that evening, if memory serves. It was that other blonde that Nastassja introduced me to, who, apart from her looks, was as exciting as a glass of milk. Stella? Samsara? I can't even fucking remember. "Do they? So, I'm curious: what did your friend say about me?"

She blushes in reply and watching her color rise makes me smile.

"Now, tell me the truth: did you know who I was?"

"Actually, no, but Kate explained it all to me, castigating me for not knowing anything outside of my books."

"Books?"

"I like to read," she shrugs apologetically. "Apparently it annoys Kate."

"Well, please thank your friend for me for the introduction. Saves me the trouble. All right, Ms. Steele, Carson tells me he can easily help you walk away from this overbearing debt of yours… so no more Madame Irina's, I hope?"

"No, I suppose not. Thank you so very much for your generous assistance."

"You are very welcome." I hesitate before asking the next question. "Would you be interested in having coffee with me now? I can play hooky from the office until one o'clock when I have a conference to attend."

"Sure, but we'd better hurry if you have a conference at one. It doesn't give us too much time."

"In that case, let's go." I offer my arm and she shyly slips her hand through. Being so close to her is… _what_? It makes me feel jubilant and I don't understand why. We reach the office front desk, and I speak to Carson's receptionist. Alicia something or other.

This woman—girl, really—always does her level best to attract and keep my attention since she began working for Carson a year or so ago. I've made it abundantly clear that no interest exists on my end yet the girl is undeterred. Initially finding it mildly annoying, now I've come to equate her with a fly on the wall. Today, though, I'm escorting another woman and the stupid twat acts as if I'm alone. My lips twitch with the urge to dress her down. Instead, I merely nod at her in greeting and she answers with a burst of giggles, irritating me to no end.

"Alicia. Please tell Carson that I left but that I'll see him later in the day. Thank you."

"Yes, Mr. Grey. You're welcome. Always," she adds slyly.

I ignore her comment and escort Anastasia into the elevator. Quietly we ride down to the lobby floor and I wonder what she's thinking about. There's a slight flush to her cheeks and she's keeping those amazing eyes riveted to the steel elevator doors in front of us. I want them to look at me. Me, Anastasia, not the damn elevator door!

I decide we'll go to the small café that serves perfectly brewed coffee—after that dishwater I was given at Carson's, anything would be a step up—and I point us in that direction. As an afterthought, it occurs to me that she may not like coffee. What else do they have there? I shift my glance back to her; she catches my eye and smiles shyly and I return it automatically. "You like coffee, don't you?"

"Yes, I love it," she says happily. "Why?"

"It's too late for breakfast and too early for lunch, hence we're going to a small pasticceria that conjures up the best lattes in town, not to mention croissants that would do a Parisian proud. Sound good?"

"Oh, yes, absolutely. I'm not too much of a breakfast eater, but I can manage a croissant."

"Yes, I can tell," I say. Ana is on the slender side and although she's gorgeous, she could do with a pound or two… especially if some of it goes to those fantastic tits that I'm dying to see in the flesh and maul up a bit.

We reach the café and are seated quickly. My usual waiter comes rushing over to take our order. "Good morning, folks. What would you like?

I place the order and then turn to the young woman in front of me. "Tell me, Ana, what do you plan to do now that you've graduated? Will you stay in Seattle?"

"I'm not exactly sure. My educational background allows me to pursue two different career paths so I've sent out resumes for both kinds of job. Thus far I've lined up only two interviews."

"Oh? What careers?

"I have a double major in English and digital arts… I've been seeking editing jobs as well as anything involving web design."

"You say you're unsure if you'll stay in Seattle. No ties holding you here? Friends? Boyfriend?" I know most of this information but it would seem odd if I didn't ask. Anyway, Welch's report on Ms. Steele was not his most comprehensive and he may have missed some things that I could ferret out here and now.

"Not currently. Technically I'm still married, I suppose."

 _What?_ "Married?" I nearly croak out.

"Didn't Mr. McEvoy tell you my story?"

"No, of course not. Attorney-client privilege. He merely told me he could help you."

"Oh. Well… it's sort of a convoluted saga."

I chance a quick look at my watch—I don't have a wealth of time, more's the pity.

"I think I might have enough time to hear at least the bare facts."

"Do you really want to know?"

 _Do dogs slobber?_ "I do."

The waiter chooses this moment to serve us, for fuck's sake. I'm anxious for her explanation about her marriage since she claims it's complicated. Would it be a good thing or not if she were already spoken for and I had no decision to make? I can't decide.

Finally the waiter leaves and she selects a croissant from the basket. I watch as she makes a production of breaking off a piece, taking a dab of butter and spreading it across this infinitesimal crumb of bread, and then finally opening that delectable mouth and daintily placing the morsel inside. For God's sake, we could be here all day eating one damn roll.

I try to be patient and I'm rewarded when she stops playing with her croissant, takes a sip of coffee, and sneaks a glance up at me. I gently prod her back into talking. "Please continue."

She launches into her story and I listen carefully, not saying an utterance until she concludes. "That's quite a tale. Without knowing you very well, if at all, I can say you're far too generous and kind, Ana." I have to remember to refrain from calling her Anastasia, which I prefer to the diminutive. She'd want to know how I know her real name and I'd have no choice but to admit I had her investigated. "People like you tend to get into trouble. Always remember the adage _The road to hell is paved with good intentions_."

"Yes, and also _No good deed goes unpunished_."

I laugh. "That, too, of course."

She raises her chin, signaling to me that she is going to come out with something I might not like. "So now you know all about me. What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Why were you at Irina's? Your brother… _is_ he your brother?"

"Elliot? Yes, my half-brother."

"Yes, your brother told me he was helping out a friend and he dragged you with him."

"Yes. His friend had the misfortune for falling for a woman who works as an escort with Irina and he wanted us to accompany him for moral support. He's not one to frequent that kind of establishment."

"Ah. That was nice of you. I wondered why you were there."

Dare I tell her the whole truth? I certainly don't have any obligation to do so but if I want to get to know her better, it's better to lay it all on the table. "That's not the entire story, I'm afraid."

She doesn't respond, instead devoting her attention to peeling another shred of flaky croissant off the roll and nibbling at it. No wonder she's so slim. Still, watching her eat is making me horny, thinking of nibbling on her lips and tits and other juicy parts. My cock wakes up at the oddest times. Crossing my legs, I decide she must stop or I'll get a full-blown hard-on and I'll be stuck sitting here for a while. "Now come on. You're surely going to eat more than that shred of the croissant."

She blushes. "Yes, I…uh…like to pick. I'm sorry."

I move on with the conversation. "You do realize that the information I divulge falls under the purview of the confidential disclosure agreement, don't you?"

"Of course," she says, wide-eyed. "I cannot even conceive of a situation when I would disclose personal information about a friend or acquaintance, legal contract or not."

I nod grimly, understanding that she may turn against me once I share this dark little secret of mine. "Until fairly recently, I was a regular client of Madame Irina's. I didn't avail myself of the escort service but rather of one of the specialties the house offers."

Lost in those deep blue eyes, I can tell she's revisiting the memory of finding me in that room. I don't like the way it makes me feel. Not in the least. Then, despite her squirming, she smiles bitterly and nods her head. _What's so amusing?_ "Nothing to say? What's the smile about, pray tell?"

"I…um…was just thinking how humorous some euphemisms are."

 _Euphemism? What does she mean?_

"Specialty?" she answers my unspoken question. "To describe that awful room?"

 _That awful room_. She might as well have finished the sentiment, _for awful people._

"I'm sorry," she says quickly.

I try not to take it personally, instead, imagining how it must seem to someone who has no taste for kink. Carefully, I choose my words. "I suppose it is awful for people—especially women—who don't understand it… or require it."

"How can anyone _require_ it?" I can hear the snap in her voice. She's judging me and everyone else in the BDSM community.

Her barb hits true and I feel the sting, which translates rapidly into something else I have no desire to define _. It's time to conclude and take my leave_. I don't need this little thing, whom I went out of my way to help, passing judgment on me. Forget it. I can find pussy any day of the week.

Though my stiff posture probably gives me away, I'm careful to keep my voice neutral. "I'd rather not engage in this conversation, Ana. As a matter of fact, I should be getting back to my office for the meeting." I gesture toward the basket of mostly untouched croissants, "Please feel free to stay and finish your coffee. It's been a complete pleasure." I stand.

Seeing me about to leave, she gets up too and rushes out her words with her movements, "No, I'm finished, too. I'll walk out with you."

I smile slightly at her eagerness but most of me has already left the room. I don't like the ugly feeling she roused in my gut with her characterization of me, and like-minded people. I reach for my wallet and toss down two twenties. "Shall we?"

Her face stricken, she jerks her head in agreement. "Which way are you walking?"

 _Why does she care? She thinks me a monster… and I am one._ "I'm not, Ana. I'm going to take a cab so I'll say goodbye here."

"It's not yet twelve-fifteen. Couldn't you walk a block or two with me?"

"Actually, I think it prudent if I do not."

Despite the way she made me feel, I reach for her hand and hold it lightly. "Ana, I wouldn't want to mislead you in any way. I'm not in the market to develop any kind of relationship with a woman, especially one as innocent as yourself. I'm just glad I was around to assist you out of a difficult situation."

I almost can't bear to see the look in her eyes, the whorls of hurt in those hypnotizing pools of blue. She quickly drops her gaze, probably aware that I've already seen too much of her.

"I completely understand. Thank you so much for everything."

I hear a quiver in her voice and instantly feel a pain in my gut. She turns and begins to walk very fast in the opposite direction from my office. For a brief moment I stand, frozen in place, but then I act. Not stopping to analyze what I'm doing, I just go after her, grasping her thin arm when I catch up to her. I spin her around and when she looks at me the pain in my stomach becomes sharper—she's crying, tears streaking down her beautiful face. "I'm sorry, Ana. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. I just…"

"It's fine, I'm fine," she insists, holding up her hand to keep her distance. "I just tend to be emotional when I get up before ten a.m. It's nothing that a long nap and a hot shower won't cure." She turns away again and this time I let her go. There's nothing further to do: I helped her out of a predicament; we had coffee. Our brief conversation convinced me we were incompatible for anything further.

End of story.

I head back to my office to prepare for my meeting with the two lobbyists we're hiring to push through a new tariff on Chinese-made solar panels. Both Emmett Jacobs and Sarah Gregory come highly recommended—even the senator praised their skills—and we need that kind of mojo on our side. Current laws make it impossible for anyone to be competitive with companies subsidized by the Chinese government.

My head should be in the game, for this is vitally important to the bottom line of the company we just acquired, but instead it's down the block crying with Anastasia. I need to snap out of this ridiculous mooning phase I'm in, for fuck's sake. It's beyond aggravating.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

"Can I send a potential sub over for you to interview, Christian? I think it would be a good match."

I pinch the bridge of my nose and consider the proposition—I have a headache and it's been a long day. "No, thank you, Irina. I'm tired… I'll go for a run and then happily end this day. Maybe I'll come to you tomorrow and check her out."

"All right, my dear," she says reluctantly. "But consider this: you've been without an outlet for your tension for too long. Get a whip in your hand and you'll feel better, you know you will."

"Right. I'm swamped at work, going in ten directions at once and trying to keep track of all the moving pieces."

"Oh, but that's what you do best, love. See you tomorrow. I'll have Tamani here waiting for you if you give me a time window."

"Let's say nine… tentatively. If nothing else comes up…"

"Make this a priority, Christian, and be here at nine." She disconnects.

...

All throughout the day, I try to drum up anticipation for tonight and meeting a new sub. I try and fail. All I get in the few minutes of reflection I can squeeze into the busy day is that last look I saw on Anastasia's face after I brushed her off. Something is eating at me over it and I'm hard-pressed to identify the emotion. By the end of the day nothing's been resolved in my mind and I pull up the calendar in my phone. Reading through, I rear my head: I haven't been to see John Flynn in two and a half weeks. No wonder I'm on an emotional tightrope. I text his assistant to pencil me in, ASAP. Then I pop into the shower to get ready for the evening. If I had to come up with an adjective to describe how I'm feeling I'd have to say halfhearted.

All is quiet at Arrowleaf, the name of Irina's estate. There's no large party occurring but I'm sure there is some kind of BDSM thing going on. I steer my car into the small lot closest to the circular drive and get out, wondering not for the first time why I came. I know the answer and knew it before I asked the question.

I'm trying to divest myself of Anastasia Steele who has taken up residence in my psyche and is proving to be downright ornery about eviction.

Walking briskly to the side entrance of the house, I am greeted by Dirk, Irina's bodyguard. Ever since her ex-husband beat her to within an inch of her life, Irina has had muscle backup. Dirk's the latest and I suspect by his looks that Irina has other uses for him. No way does he appear submissive in the least but appearances can often be seriously deceptive. I've learned that lesson time and again.

"Hello, sir," he greets me cordially.

I nod perfunctorily, never conversing with any of Irina's staff. Friendly interaction is not my MO, never has been, and never will be. "Irina?" I ask.

"Already inside with your new _friend,_ sir."

I walk past him, irked with Irina that she shares so much. Already I don't want Tamani, just on principle alone.

 _Tamani_. What kind of name is that? Is she exotic like her name implies? I'm about to find out. I rap my knuckles against the oak door twice, wait a beat and then a third time. Then I open the door.

The room is in full swing already. There are three ongoing scenes against the side wall, and in the back I can hear a woman keening. The energy inside the room fires up my blood and I go in search of Irina.

"Darling," comes the syrupy voice of both my wet dreams and my nightmares. "Here we are."

I turn and there's Irina sitting with a young woman. As soon as my eyes fall on the submissive, she rises to her feet, casts her eyes down, and goes to her knees. Her motion can only be described as poetic, like a ribbon of melted chocolate being gently folded into a bowl. I'm impressed.

"Your eyes on me," I command. She looks up and I see her beauty. Wearing nothing but a skimpy yellow bikini top coupled with a black elastic skirt so brief it resembles a large rubber band, she's about 24 years old, 5'8" and about 125 lbs. She's likely biracial, with dark skin, but her almond eyes announce some Asian blood as well. I raise my hand, an order for her to stand, and she does, again with poetry in every movement.

Long dark hair is plaited into a single braid that hangs to the top of her ass. Nice. Her limbs are endless and lean yet she manages to have abundant tits. She's everything I always look for in a submissive, yet, though my dick is twitching behind my zipper, it remains largely unimpressed. Fuck me, this is getting infuriating.

"Why don't you take Tamani to a private room for a little test drive, Master G? She's indicated that she's open to anything you might want to do."

Yes, that's what I should do. I rotate on the balls of my feet and head toward the warren of private rooms, knowing the girl will follow, likely on her hands and knees. It's clearly obvious that she's well trained.

When we get to the room I wheel around to face her and she's kneeling before me. "Tamani, I am in the very early stages of seeking out a new submissive. What transpires in this room, satisfying or not to one or both parties, might very likely amount to nothing more. Are you still interested in exploring this option?"

"Yes, sir."

"Why?"

In a melodic, intelligent voice, she lays her cards on the table. "I'm looking for a competent Dominant and I've heard you're among the finest. I'm willing to take the risk; besides, I'm pretty certain I will enjoy tonight regardless."

"What else have you heard about me?"

"I've heard you're strict but fair, that you expect your rules to be scrupulously followed. If any are broken, punishment can range from moderate to severe. Also, that you are uninterested in any emotional component in the relationship and will only entertain strict power exchanges that allow sexual congress, and domination slash submission. Nothing more."

I bob my head to acknowledge her words. _Why would any woman agree to my strictures, I wonder?_ Yet they do and fight for the privilege. "Many would find that kind of arrangement overly restrictive. What keeps you interested?"

"Your reputation as an excellent master, your skill with the implements and sexual prowess, your generosity…"

"My submissives enjoy a measure of material comfort, yes, however, it comes with many strings attached, you do understand."

"Yes, sir. If I may be so bold as to say, it's also your physical attractiveness that appeals to me."

"All right. I think we might proceed. If we go any further than tonight, we will exchange a list of hard and soft limits prior to signing our six-month contract. If all is compatible, the medical tests follow and then the contract itself. As I stated, we're a long way off from that point. For tonight I'll only ask your tolerance for pain, from one to ten?"

While I wait for her to answer I feel myself engaging. It's not even sexual so much as the need to inflict pain. I am a monster, I do realize and accept that, but I revel in it while I'm in these rooms, if only to pay double for it outside in the world of normal. Right now I'm inclined to indulge without thought.

"My tolerance is about a seven or eight, sir. The cane is the only real restriction I have. I can take a couple of swats with it but that's it."

"Good. Then we'll start with those limits. We will not engage in intercourse tonight but I will ensure you enjoy the experience. Strip now."

I stand back while she obeys, rising gracefully to her feet and removing the two articles of clothing. She wears a silver ankle bracelet that resembles a cuff and I find it alluring. Something like that would look really hot on Anastasia's long slender leg with a long silver chain attached, a sexy slave girl. I heave out a sigh in disgust with myself. What an ass I'm becoming.

...

An hour later I leave a satisfied submissive in my wake and I know I won't be back for a while. I feel good—great even—for having utilized my whip hand energetically. I strung Tamani up from the rafter, whipped her with a flogger first and then a single tail, striped that long gorgeous body up and down, and finished with the crop against her shaved pussy until she came—and came hard. Tamani does have a high tolerance for pain—I never got near her limit despite letting loose a few times, and she looked inordinately pleased when I left her, so much so that I afforded her a quick peck on the lips while saying goodbye. I fled the house before I could be corralled by Irina.

On my way home, I let my emotional wall crumble a tad, allowing myself to consider what the hell is going on with me. Somehow, in some mysterious way, my attentions toward the fairer sex seem to have all narrowed to one woman whom I'd never before met and now know very superficially.

Why?

Her beauty? Without doubt, Anastasia is exquisite… yet there are many beautiful women in the world. Those incredible eyes? Again, true, but how much can a person detect through a cursory glance into another's eyes? Yes, the eyes hold deep but not enough to derail someone's emotional calendar at a glance. So then what?

For the entire drive back to my place I ponder, and by the time I pull into the underground garage at Escala, I am no closer to solving the riddle that is Anastasia and my unabiding fascination with her.

...

Every day last week except for Tuesday I've had to attend an event of some kind. Tonight it's the Seattle Art Museum's turn, a fundraiser and silent auction to kick off the museum's campaign to add six significant new pieces to its sculpture park by end of 2016.

I've decided to take Mia. I just cannot bear the notion of tolerating another date with another insipid female. Nastassja is the only woman whose company I actually enjoy but she's away in Thailand on a modeling assignment and I haven't the heart to ask anyone else. At least my sister is an agreeable companion and her bubbly enthusiasm keeps me from dying of boredom right there on the glossy hardwoods of the dance floor.

I'm not here ten minutes before it happens.

 _She's here._

… and with a client from Irina's, that gay fashion designer, Kent Gable. I watch her closely, uncertain how to handle this flagrant disobedience.

Tunnel vision. All along the edges of my sight turns black with only her in the center, as if the ballroom narrows myopically to one person: Anastasia. She's wearing a black satin strapless gown that's so fucking sexy it should be declared illegal.

Lewd.

Indecent.

For the images it's creating in my head. Mainly all that poufy material ruched up around her waist while my face is buried deep between her legs, licking her cunt to bring her to the heights of ecstasy while she moans and tries unsuccessfully to dislodge me.

God, what the fuck is _wrong_ with me?

Right next to me stands Mia, attuned to everything going on with and around us. I love my little sister but she can be trying and she's even nosier about my life than Elliot, if that's even possible. Also vexing is the tuxedo—it's a beautifully cut suit, and has unusual detail but I'm in a suit all damn day so at night I prefer to dress casually. To my misfortune, however, almost every evening this past week I've had to be dressed up and out in public.

Mia's wearing a low-cut and attention-attracting emerald green gown. I ponder the probability that if Anastasia sees me with her, she'll misinterpret the situation. Good, that's good. Let her think that she was a mere blip on my radar and I'm continuing my usual social life. Which I am. I have to have companions for all the events I attend. It would look very odd if I showed up by myself all the time. People talk about me enough as it is, without giving them more fuel for their gossip fire.

Fuck it. I'm going over to her. I will not allow her to trample all over our agreement. Besides, for whatever reason I don't care to examine, I want her to know that Mia is my sister. Fuuuck. This girl has me tied up seven ways from Sunday. Before I know it, I'm in front of the couple, Mia in lockstep.

"Mr. Gable? Hello, I'm Christian Grey. My sister simply wouldn't forgive me if I didn't introduce her to you." I avoid looking at Anastasia, focusing on her date exclusively, and angle my body to showcase my sister. "This is Mia Grey, my sister and a devotee of your work."

Gable is friendly and smiles, shaking Mia's hand. Now I steal a quick gander at Anastasia. Is that relief I see on her face? Had she seen me before I came over and thought me with another woman? I wish I could climb inside her head for five minutes and have a look around. While I'm there…

Kent turns to Anastasia. "This is Ana Steele, my companion for the evening. Ana, please meet Christian and Mia Grey."

I extend my hand to her and when she is forced to take it, I squeeze gently but insistently, letting her know she will have to answer for this breach. I keep my eyes trained on hers and she's caught, seemingly unable to tear them away—until I smile and it breaks the spell. Pity.

"A pleasure, Ms. Steele. You look quite familiar. Have we met?"

Shock flashes across her face and is gone just as quickly. "Yes, I do believe we met at a party, Mr. Grey. However, it's very nice to see you again."

"Likewise. Do you recall the party wherein we met? I cannot seem to remember precisely."

Her irises flare with an incendiary spark. She has the temerity to be angry after what she's done? Her voice does not betray her feelings, however, as she says smoothly, "I'm uncertain but I do remember your face and name."

At that point Mia unwittingly steps in to rescue Anastasia. She's going on and on about Gable's designs and the man mentions he designed his date's gown. Always inappropriate, Mia runs her hand down the side of Anastasia's leg, giggling all the while.

"Oops, I didn't mean to be fresh. It's just that the fabric is irresistibly tantalizing."

Ana laughs at my sister's exuberance. "Yes, I couldn't stop touching it when I first received it. The dress is exceptionally pretty, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is, Ana, and it looks fantastic on you," Mia gushes, ratcheting up my impatience level into Red Alert, where I might be energized to attack someone or something. I want the woman _alone_. _Now_.

An announcement is made for guests to move to their seats. Mia and I are not seated anywhere near Gable and Anastasia so I have to wait until the dance floor opens. The second it does I decide to make my move. I turn to Mia.

"Would you mind if I asked Ana to dance? I'm sure you'll soon find your own dance partner."

Mia's eyes lighten with unadulterated joy. She'll be sure to tell my whole family by breakfast that I was actually dancing, something I rarely do, thanks to Irina. "Not at all, Christian. Have at it. I can sit here and drink myself into oblivion with these delicious Bellinis. Go, have fun."

When I get there Gable is with his partner having, from the looks of it, a serious conversation. I approach Anastasia from the other side.

"May I have the pleasure of a dance?"

She looks confused and darts her eyes at Kent. He interrupts his conversation long enough to reassure her.

"Please, Ana, feel free to enjoy yourself. I'm afraid I'm not much of a dancing man myself."

"In that case, I'll stay here with you," she says politely and turns to me. "Thank you for the invitation but—"

Gable interrupts her. "Really, Ana, I insist. Dance with the poor man. I have the prettiest woman in the room. It's my obligation to share."

She looks at him, then at me as if she's undecided. I stand there waiting, surprised that I'm more amused than offended by her reluctance. I hold out my hand and she's forced into a decision, making the right one for a change.

"Excuse me," she says to Gable and we walk to the dance floor. When we get there and face each other she smiles but under her breath her words belie her expression. "What do you think you're doing?"

I pretend I'm not expecting her very predictable reaction. "I think I'm dancing. Am I that bad at it?"

"Very funny, Mr. Grey. I'm here on a date with Kent and you're intruding."

Again I feign surprise, even indignation. "Intruding? I merely asked you to dance. But since we're being critical," I drop my voice, declaring my real demeanor for the evening, "allow me to point out the fact that you promised me you would retire from Madame Irina's employ once I assisted you out of your debt obligation. Yet… here you are." Stupidly, I've invited my fury into the ballroom. Now it will be a struggle to take it down again.

"What possible difference can it make to you?" she hisses. "For your information, I was obligated contractually to a minimum of two assignment completions. Besides, Kent is a nice man who expects nothing but my company."

"Be that as it may, you promised."

"I _assured_ , not _promised_. However, I was unaware of that particular stipulation at the time. I guess contract analysis is not my strong suit."

"Then perhaps you might stop signing them." Grrr. I want to shake her so badly.

She appears taken aback by my… _zeal_. "Mr. Grey, I signed the contract before I even met you. Besides, I fail to see how any of this concerns you. I was unaware that your kind and generous assistance in my legal matter came with strings attached. However, since it appears that it did, I will be happy to reimburse you for whatever monies were spent on Mr. McEvoy's time and effort."

I muster everything—and I mean everything—to keep my anger tabled for now. She's infuriating me with her absolute defiance. For God's sake, I run a big chunk of corporate America and she's a little slip of a college graduate—UDub at that—and she's giving me a hard time. What's really pissing me off is the mystery of why I care.

Well, for whatever reason I do care and despite my rancor at her poor attitude I am immensely enjoying having her lithe body in my arms, inhaling her sublime scent—a medley of a very light perfume with the fresh clean smell radiating from her shiny hair. She sneaks a glance at me while I'm indulging in Anastasia appreciation and I flash her a genuine smile that feels like it stretches from ear to ear. This girl turns me on my head and I haven't the slightest idea how to right myself again, but then she beams back at me, her eyes gleaming with a mischievous glow and I sail crooked happily.

But all too soon the song ends and she pats my arm. "I think I should probably get back to Kent."

I look over to where Gable is sitting with his SO. "He's otherwise engaged so it's fine for now."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she fires at me.

"You do realize your companion is gay, right, Ana?"

"Yes, of course."

"The man he's conversing with is his partner." I assume that's all the explanation required yet she appears perplexed. "Allow me to be clear," I add. "That is Jared Parks, a publicist and Kent's significant other. Why he thinks no one knows that is beyond comprehension."

"Oh. Yes, especially for a fashion designer, being gay is almost expected."

"Well, maybe he does it for his parents' comfort."

"Perhaps. Still, I should get back to him soon."

"And you will. But first, you and I are going to have a nice chat. Come."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

I sprawl on the black leather Barcelona chair, my thumb circling the face of the Chopard watch on my left wrist, stubbornly refusing to look at John. As usual, his deft probing of my psyche is taxing my patience egregiously.

"You're going to wear out the crystal of that pricey bauble right off the face of the watch. Christian, let's examine what exactly is going on here with this young woman."

Sighing, I know I'll be the one to break first. I _am_ coming here, after all, for his sage guidance. John's been counseling me for nearly ten years to meet my demons head on, own them, as he says, and rationally consider that Irina Bordeaux may have been the driving catalyst for my issues, the engine behind my phobias and neuroses, the genesis of the shitstorm that is my life. Not in so many words—Flynn makes me produce my own vocabulary. In the main, he wants me to confront hard truths—the first major step toward full actualization, he insists.

Thus far I've resisted arriving at that conclusion. I can't. How would it serve me at this point? My belief is that it would be undermining to me to allow it to become part of my personal narrative, a weakness rather than a strength. _I_ chose Irina; it wasn't the other way around. If there's fault, I'd have to claim it.

Anyway, it was my fucking mother who was responsible. I'm just confusing her with Irina in my dreams. Dreams? Huh. Nightmares.

Now that Anastasia has tiptoed into the picture, Dr. Flynn's forcing me to look back once again, to revisit the time in my life when I met Irina. He thinks my experiences with her were the framework, the foundation, for all the brick walls I've built around my emotions for years. He's been trying to help me raze them ever since. I've been resisting because I'm comfortable crouching behind those walls, allowing people to see only as much light as I allow through. Essentially I'm obstructing my own therapy.

"Why do you think your responses to this young lady are so radically different than anything that preceded her, Christian? You have to have had considered it."

Chewing the inside of my cheek I briefly contemplate getting up and walking out. I'm not in the mood for this shit right now. "Yes, I've considered it, John, and I've come up with zilch, as is becoming the norm whenever anything concerns Ms. Steele. She's just… different." I shrug helplessly for it's the unvarnished truth.

"Think carefully, Christian: is _she_ different or are you? Or maybe this is who you were all along yet insistently and consistently denied it… with a healthy dollop of help from your sexual mentor."

"I doubt it," I mumble. I know I'm being obstinate but I can't help it with Flynn. He makes me revert to a bad-tempered sixteen-year-old.

"So you say you've arrived at no conclusions with respect to Anastasia."

Peering up, I nod, wary of unseen traps he tends to spring on me.

"Have you decided to just follow it where it leads then? Last time we spoke you were adamant about never seeing the young lady again."

"I feel like the choice isn't mine. I'm obsessed with her." I hate conceding that to him, admitting vulnerability like that. But he's the only one I can tell, so I do. John's seen every facet of my fucked-up personality and he's still here.

I drop my head into my hands, chewing over what he's asked. The way I ended it with Anastasia at the fundraiser was somewhat unsatisfactory but the best I could accomplish. I asked her point blank about her contract with Irina.

" _So, Ana, might I assume you will satisfy your two-date minimum and then retire from the escort profession?"_

 _She nodded in agreement. "That's what I told Irina. She, however, informed me that if Kent appreciates my company, he will likely hire me long-term and she asked that I refrain from deciding until such time as I fulfill my contractual obligation."_

I didn't like that answer. Irina's a shrewd businesswoman and she surely identified and even calculated the revenue stream that Ana would generate as Kent's regular escort.

Not if I had anything to say about it.

I don't care to even think about the rest of that conversation. I made the novice mistake of letting Anastasia see more than she ever should have. I basically told her I was jealous of other men where she was concerned.

Stupid.

Moreover, completely false. I have no claim on her nor do I want one. It was just more drivel spilling from my mouth due to displaced anger that I wasn't free to express. Enough said. More than enough actually.

Apart from that faux pas, I knew right then what I had to do. I had to help her fulfill her contractual obligations to Irina and get her away from the woman's clutches. I also wanted to do a lot of other things to Ms. Steele and I was waging an internal war within myself about it. I can't recall ever being so conflicted about anything before. My life has always been neatly colored between the lines. Anastasia is taking me well beyond those boundaries, making everything vibrant and sloppy, disturbing my sense of order.

Yet I cannot seem to let her go.

 _Ahem._ "Christian? It appears that you left the room. Might I invite you back in?"

"I'm sorry. What?" I reach for the glass of water on the low-slung coffee table, and take a small sip. "You should have scotch instead of water. It would make it infinitely easier to spill my guts."

Flynn throws his head back and laughs, his prominent Adam's Apple vibrating. "Good idea, actually—at least with you. Look," he says with a quick glance at his watch, "our session is up but I'd like to ask you to once again consider what we discussed about your psychological entanglement between your biological mother and Irina. If we could make a breakthrough there, Christian, I do believe it would open more doors in your new relationship with Anastasia."

"It's not a relationship," I mutter.

Flynn tilts his head, an odd expression animating his face. "How would you characterize it then?"

"An obsession. One that I need to shed very soon." I get up and stalk out the door. It's gratifying to walk out on John but ruined when I have to stop at his receptionist's desk to make another appointment. If I don't see the good doctor on a weekly basis, I generally dive into a tailspin.

...

I manage to hold out for almost three weeks before making further contact with Anastasia. Third-quarter reports are due at GH, as well as several of our partner firms. The halls are crawling with accountants and attorneys, and my publicist keeps scheduling interviews, on- and off-site, both to keep my name on the lips of financial news pundits on the eve of a significant Asian acquisition and me running in all directions. I'm in the middle of a photo shoot, waiting for the lighting to be adjusted, when I give in to the temptation and telephone Irina.

"Henry Chinaski? Why?"

"Just do it, Irina. I have my reasons."

"She won't accept the assignment if she doesn't know who is requesting her. I can assure you—especially after what happened with Michael, the girl is skittish."

"Vouch for Chinaski for me, Irina, and see what happens. Summon those delightful _charms_ of yours to be convincing." I drop my voice even lower despite the fact that there's no one in the immediate vicinity. "You know you can do it, _Mistress_."

The hitch of her breath is audible. "Fine. I'll call you once the deed is done." The phone disconnects and I smirk. Mistress. Gets her every time. I have to wonder if the woman who has the constitution of a fire-breathing dragon is getting sentimental in her dotage. I actually think she misses having me under her thumb despite the things I did to her at the end of our association.

Now let's see if I can snare a little girl in my literary net and how well she might play the game.

...

I slip my phone back into the pocket of my Zegna suit jacket, mustering all resources to maintain my placid appearance. She accepted the fucking assignment! The obstinate girl will just not listen to reason. I don't know why I'm surprised in the least—I did expect this outcome.

Perhaps she recognized the literary name and figured out it was me requesting her escort? Even still, it's a leap of faith, and one she should not have made. I might just have to take her over my knee right in the limo and spank some kind of common sense into her.

That erotic image instantly rouses my cock and I'm forced to cross my leg. There's no denying how much I want to fuck this young woman—ravage her, really. Her contract limits are stringent: escort only, pleasant company, nothing else. Might she consider trespass of her boundaries with me? The thought of being able to plow her as soon as tomorrow night makes me harder than stone and I need to close my eyes to retreat since I'm in the midst of a crowded conference room, one that's lousy with attorneys and CFOs.

Drawing on my considerable resources I muddle through the rest of the meeting. This merger GH is working may prove to be the single most lucrative deal I've ever made. In one stroke of a pen, it could add billions to our bottom line, and increase our global profile exponentially—and most of it without any substantial negative outcomes, such as redundancies in personnel, equipment, and real estate. All this without significantly increasing the corporation's carbon footprint, which we are striving to reduce by half and have committed to achieving by the arrival of 2020.

It calls for a major celebration and I know just where I want to do it.

...

Taylor drives the Mercedes to my parents' for dinner and on the way we swing by Anastasia's condo to get her. I sit in the back plotting, gathering forces to quell the nervous butterflies fluttering in my stomach. I'll be thirty next year and I've never taken a woman home with me to meet the family. Not a single time. How much fuss will they make of it?

When I see her emerge with Taylor, I can't help smiling. She is without doubt an exceptional looking woman. Every time I see her, she surprises me with how much better in reality she is than my memory of her. Tonight she looks like a college girl dressed up to go out—which, I suppose, she is. Yet despite my glee at having her back in my universe, I'm still beyond peeved at her recklessness with her own safety. This continual duality I have going on concerning this girl is maddening.

When she gets in I say nothing. She looks at me and says hello shyly, not at all surprised that it's me, that I'm Henry Chinaski. I suppose she recognized the name.

Across town my parents await us and I know I'm slipping into a mood, as I always seem to do when it's family time. Chin on hand, I'm staring out the window at the changing view as I try to control it. My annoyance with Anastasia has not abated but it's incredibly pleasant having her beside me—I'm somewhat appeased.

I swipe a glance at her now. She's perched there, head back, eyes unfocused. Sitting a little too close for my comfort, I might add. When she leans her head against me, all systems go into red alert. Probably my most crippling phobia is this one, the fear of being touched or crowded. A few deep breaths and I can overcome it, at least for a little while.

Have I ever met one so innocent as she? I'm not around children or teenagers—no one except Zander, and I don't even see him that often. When I asked Anastasia why she thought she had no cause to worry about me, she was seriously brought up short, as if the idea hadn't even flitted through her head. Why?

Because I'm influential and wealthy? All the more reason, in my estimation. My money and power can shield me from the long arm of the law should I choose to bend or even break it now and then. I could hurt her and stroll away unscathed. Doesn't she realize how dangerous is the world at large, especially for a young and beautiful woman? It may be up to me to convince her. Forewarned is forearmed.

It's also up to me to convince her of other things tonight as well.

...

The evening is running smoothly despite my sister's exhausting enthusiasm, which must be contagious since Anastasia is right in there with her, encouraging Mia with laughter. Katherine Kavanagh and her parents are also here, since her father does business with Carrick, as do I—peripherally."

We're sitting across the table from the Kavanaghs.

"So how do you all know each other?" Anastasia asks, eyes bright as she eagerly scans faces.

"Richard Kavanagh owns a media empire; Carrick is in entertainment law." I weave my fingers. "Overlapping boundaries. As for me, I sometimes make _some_ positive use of the media," I add, smirking at the man when he catches my eye.

"Indeed, Christian. You play us all like a fiddle." He winks as my father laughs and pats him on the back.

My eyes bounce across the table to Elliot, unusually quiet for a nice change, and busy surveying the room. The one thing I notice right out of the gate is the way my brother is ogling Katherine. I don't bother disguising my head shake-eye roll when he feels my stare and his gaze shifts to me: it's painfully obvious how and where their night will end. Hopefully Anastasia will be spared from bearing witness to the accompanying musical score. And she _will_ be spared, if I have my way… and I plan to.

Biding my time until opportunity presents, I pounce when it does, managing to separate Anastasia from her admirers.

"Do you want a tour of the house?"

As I expected she readily agrees. Leading her upstairs, I give her the express and much abbreviated tour, saving the extended one for my childhood bedroom. When we enter the suite her eyes light up at my boyhood space, and immediately she's drawn to my corkboard, attracted by the photos and other detritus of my careless youth. I wait until she's focused and then sneak up behind her, wrapping my arms around her tiny waist.

I'm as hard as I've ever been and I want her to feel me, to viscerally _know_ what she does to me. Pulling her against the length of my body, my lips at the delicate shell of her ear, I utter in my most seductive register, "I know you have limitations on your contract but I would very much like to exceed them tonight."

She says nothing but her body melts into mine. I know if I slip my hand into her panties I'll feel hot, wet pussy. The thought has me nearly panting.

I keep one arm around her, allowing my other free range, journeying up to her tits. I grasp one and begin to fondle it. "Is this okay?"

Her head lolls back onto my shoulder. "Everything's okay," she hisses out in a whoosh of breath.

I laugh and hold her tighter, squeezing both of those amazing tits now. I want to toss her on the bed and fuck her right this minute—no restraints, no blindfold, no whip. I've never wanted vanilla sex so much as I do in the moment. Behind the unforgiving teeth of the zipper, my cock is convulsing, about to detonate in my jeans any moment.

"Christian…"

I spin her to face me. "I want you, Ana. I've wanted you since I first saw you in that blue gown."

"I want you, too, Christian. There's something I have to tell you first."

 _What?_ "What is it?"

She blushes furiously. "It's… uh… it's just that I've never been here before."

Here? What is she saying? That she's a virgin? Can she be _that_ innocent? "You've never… what? Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

A slight smile first… and then she murmurs, "I don't know. Depends on what you think I'm saying."

"That you've never… you're a virgin?"

"Yes."

I need a moment. I've never had a virgin. Might be interesting. Might be messy. I eye her swollen lips, her mussed-up chestnut locks. Whatever, I'm all in. But why, is my question? Don't most girls lose it in their teens, when the hormones kick in, start insanely percolating? Find out. "May I ask why? Why you waited so long?"

A pink flush microbursts across her face as her eyes flare with… resentment? "I never met anyone who I wanted to…" She trails off.

Good answer. "Have you _now_?"

"Yes."

 _Get her on the bed right now._ "Here? Or shall we go to my place?"

"I'd feel more comfortable at your place."

I kiss her, using my tongue as I plan to use my cock—intruding, invading, entwining. I keep her close so she can feel my granite erection—it feels like a block of lead in my jeans and I'm seriously unsure if I can make it home without sooner relief. She's also deeply affected—I'm uncertain if her legs will even hold her weight if I release her from my grip.

 _We have to go. Now_.

"Then we'll go to my place."

...

Finally.

Escala.

My bedroom. _Why my bedroom?_ I usually use a guest suite. I don't know why… but I want her there… to see her in the huge bed, the large piece of driftwood sculpture on the wall, jutting over her splayed, naked body. Like a mermaid sacrifice.

I let her settle a bit by undressing myself first, emptying my pockets, and putting the things away. Before long, her tremulous voice perforates the sexual tension thick in the air between us. "You must work out a lot."

As I close in on her, I bare my teeth—she likes what she sees. "I do my fair share. Now it's your turn to show and tell."

I kiss her. She's as sweet as the richest honey. Am I doing the right thing? Shouldn't I leave her unplundered? After all, I can't be her gallant prince. I'm the ne'er do well ready to lay waste to her virtue.

Ah, this warring duality again: my body says go, my mind says stop. _But I fucking want her._

"Before we go any further, I need to know if this night is conditional?"

"Conditional?"

"As I said before, at some point soon, a conversation needs to occur between us, Ana, and questions need to be posed and answered. I'm not particularly of a mind to do that right now but I do need to know if spending the night with me is contingent on the answers to those questions."

"You mean the whole leathersex thing?"

"Well… yes, that… and others. I have… _issues_ , Ana. Serious ones… so I'm not good boyfriend material. If that's what you're looking for…?"

Wry amusement balloons in her eyes for a heartbeat and then it's gone. "It's not conditional."

Shall I accept her at her word? I stop to think for about ten seconds. Fuck yeah. "Well, then, Ms. Steele, let's get you out of these clothes, shall we?"

I seat her on the edge of the bed and I'm on my knees in front of her, kissing her luscious lips, sucking them into my mouth. They are succulent, like tender fruit. My hands go around her throat to pin her in place as I plunder.

Slowly I work my way down her body, touching everything along the way but treading so softly, so lightly, to drive her just a little bit wild. Winding up a woman for sex is one of life's most erotic pleasures and I never deny myself the enjoyment. Women like to stay neat and in control: I feel it's my obligation to dirty them up, nudge them out of their comfort zones. All it takes is a little patience, curious hands, and a relentless tongue. The end result is fucking magic.

"I can kiss you all day, Ana. I've never enjoyed kissing a woman as much as I do you."

I remove her silky bra with anticipation—I've been waiting a long while to get a look at these little beauties. I'm unprepared, though, for how much seeing them affects me. Natural tits that haven't been augmented or artificially enhanced in any way are so primal, so sexual—and so sadly unusual of late.

After a long moment of eye-fucking, I find my voice. "I doubt you have the smallest clue how much I want you, Ana. I've thought of you every night since I saw you at Madame Irina's, looking spectacular in that lucky blue gown. I've imagined how beautiful these are and I must say they exceed my imagination. A perfect handful."

I suck first one and then the other nipple into my mouth, tonguing each until she squirms. I move my attention to her pants, the whole time keeping her locked within my eyes so I can read every expression in hers.

I'm trying to go slow, to be patient, but it's a monumental effort. I push her down on the bed and finish stripping her quickly. When I'm down to her panties I finish removing what's left of my own clothing—my briefs. I don't want to leave her naked while I am not in attendance. I'm very much aware that everything is all new to her—even being nude with a man—so I'm trying to take it slow, calm, gradual. It's fucking difficult.

I see some concern in her eyes when they take in my bared cock and I can't help but grin. Soon she'll be grateful for my large size.

"Ana, you're so beautiful, do you know that? Your skin is flawless and softer than any silk or velvet. If you were mine, I'd never stop touching you."

As I reach for a condom she reaches for some information. "Are all men that big?"

I almost laugh but I bite it back, afraid to frighten her off in any way. "Now's not the time to bring up other men, Ana… but I doubt it. Don't worry, we'll fit fine. It might be a bit tight at first… but that's a good thing." I give her a wink, trying to set her mind at ease. _Tight is very good, baby._

I climb over her, so fucking ready to ram my cock into her virgin pussy, but I exert all my power to hold back. "Are you absolutely sure? This is the last exit before the toll."

She says yes, thank God. I'd hate to have to pull back now. I only wish I could forgo the damn rubber. I should warn her what's coming but I also don't want to scare her. From what I've heard, first-time sex is very painful for most women. I gentle my voice to the extent possible. "It might hurt for a few moments but I'll do it fast so we don't prolong the unpleasant part. Okay?"

"Am I your first virgin, Christian?"

"Yes, but I know what I'm doing, baby. Trust me."

Kissing her to distract her, I slip a hand between her legs so fingers could explore. My cock is screaming for it, wildly bobbing of its own volition, trying to get inside. She's so ready. Does she even realize how cock-starved her pussy is? "You're so wet, baby, all for me. I'm already covered in you and I'm not inside yet. I like that, Ana, very much. Will you always get wet for me, baby?"

She doesn't answer and she doesn't have to; I'm merely trying to distract her from the next part because it's going to hurt. I grasp her wrists and pin them over her head so she can't push me out—that might end up hurting her more. She's committed to doing this… as am I… In position, I kiss her again, and thrust my tongue inside her mouth at the same time I thrust my hips forward, feeling the firm resistance of her barrier as if it will never tear and then it melts away as if it were never there.

The shriek erupting from her throat is both hard to bear and exhilarating because I just welcomed her to womanhood. It's a heady feeling. "I'm in now. Are you okay, baby?"

"I'm fine. What are you doing?"

"Just letting you acclimate to me. It's nice how your body is conforming to mine. Feel it?"

Slow and steady, I have to keep reminding myself, pulling back each time I start giving in to instinct. My climax is there, right there, and through iron will I force it back.

"Are you okay?" she asks, watching me closely.

She has no clue. "Oh, baby, you're so tight. You feel so good it's hard to hang on to my control." I want her to come before I let myself release. "Time to let go, Ana."

I use all my tricks to induce her orgasm but it doesn't come. Can a virgin climax the first time? Can't see why not.

She's not following the program—she's just too new. She needs help. I reach down between us and play with her clit. It's pulled taut between us since my cock is taking up all the slack—and there's not much of it to begin with. With a last-ditch effort I pinch her, not too tight, not too loose—and that's the winning combination. She slides right into orgasm and I finally can allow my own. I've denied it so long it burns as it makes its way up my legs, my balls, through my cock. Fountain.

"Ana."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

She's sleeping on my bed, looking for all the world like a little pink-lipped angel kidnapped from the heavens and sneaked down to earth, trapped here in sodden binds.

Today she met me at my office and we went out to dinner to discuss the Dom/sub contract. When I emerged from my meeting to find her sitting there, dark glossy hair spilling around her shoulders, lapis blue eyes taking it all in, a sparkling gem among the corporate blond automatons of my office, my ticking thing lurched. Seriously moved inside my chest.

I decided then and there that she would join me in my dungeon and we would soar to new sensual heights together. I could not imagine a more worthy candidate than my Anastasia and I would give her all the benefit of my now vast erotic experience. Nothing but the best for this special girl— _my_ special girl.

So convinced I was a few short hours ago. What changed? A tired girl fell asleep in my arms.

Trusting me implicitly.

Now I watch her slumber and know that I simply cannot take this clean, pure, beautiful little thing—someone's darling daughter, for Christ's sake—and corrupt her with the indelible stain of my fallen grace. Yes, she would get to explore her sensuality but at what cost? It might be harmful to her in the long term and she'd find the taint permanent, as I have, no matter how ferociously one scrubs the skin. What right do I have to take that chance?

I've always considered the BDSM to be therapeutic for my damaged psyche. Even in the beginning when Irina tried so hard to discourage me from it, I knew it would help. It gave me an outlet—a way to physically release without placing me in situations I found untenable. I even enjoyed Irina's domination for it took me out of my head and my head is no place to be ninety-nine percent of the time.

And despite what Flynn always pushes me to discover, it _did_ help. Before Irina, I was a ticking time bomb. I wanted sex but I couldn't let girls get that close to me. I wanted to touch them but couldn't bear the thought of them touching me back. I wanted to fuck them but I didn't want anything else to do with them. Interpersonal back and forth was too frightening for me. I preferred keeping company with facts and figures, not people who could respond to me.

Irina is another ball of wax that needs to be picked at with a psychiatric scalpel. Flynn thinks she's done me more damage than Catherine, my biological mother. Ella-Catherine-Renee. Whoever was the one who did me the fucking damage.

But Irina tried her damnedest to keep me out of it. I was the one who insisted. I flourished in the environment, even as her sub. It was only when… well, that's a road best left untraveled.

Having decided now to send Anastasia away, I feel a choking lump rising up in my throat. What is it, this little monster that attacks me in moments like this? It instantly reduces me, makes me feel like a child again, when these awful, terrible things called emotions wreaked havoc over my daily existence. I've since learned to master them but once in a while, like right now, my reign is not sovereign.

From peace to fright, Ana starts to thrash in her sleep, distracting me from my gloom. I keep my voice calm and steady. "Ana, wake up."

Her eyelids unhinge, revealing confused blue orbs.

"You were having quite a dream. I wasn't sure if it was a nightmare or not, so I erred on the side of caution. Was it?"

She sits up and looks around. "Um, how did I get _here_?"

"You fell asleep in the car on the way home from the restaurant. I managed to wake you enough to walk into the apartment but then you conked out again on the sofa. I carried you into my bedroom."

"What? Didn't… didn't we go into your… um… special room?"

 _What? I think I'd remember that_. "No, we did not. Was that what your dream was about?"

She blushes—she's always blushing. "I guess I thought we were in there."

I can't resist touching her. "No, Ana. We were not."

"In my sleep I went in there with you. We… um… had fun."

"Did we now?"

"Yes, I think we should try it."

 _No, we shouldn't. While you were out…_ "Hmm."

I stroke her while I frame my words. "While you were sleeping… and I was watching you slumber in all your appealing innocence, I experienced a change of heart. An attack of conscience might be a more apt description. I don't think I can lead you down that dark path, baby. It wouldn't be right."

"But you said it's the only kind of relationship you have…?"

"Yes." I say the word and desperately want to avoid looking into her eyes but even I'm not that cowardly.

I look.

I see.

The hurt there is a contagious pathogen; it infects me instantly. I nearly double over from the sharp pain.

"So… no us, then? Are you telling me good-bye so soon?"

"I don't want to, Ana… but I think it's for the best." _Fight me on this, baby. I'll give in._

"For whose best?"

 _Can't she see?_ "Yours, of course."

" _Please_ ," she spits out the word, as if her own sarcasm burns her tongue. "If you want out of this," she waves her hand in the air, "whatever it is we have, that's your prerogative. But don't tell me it's in _my_ best interests. At the very least be honest with me… and with yourself. I think I deserve that much, don't you?"

"You deserve that and more, Ana." _She deserves much more than me and I need to make her see it._ "Honestly, if the whole travesty with that would-be rapist had not occurred, you and I would never have seen each other after that evening, in all likelihood. I would never have seriously contemplated inducting you into my kink… although I might have imagined it or possibly dreamt about it."

Her eyes are blazing with the heat of her anger. She's taking no prisoners tonight. "So that's it then? You're saying good-bye to me right now?"

 _I don't want to… but I should_. "I think so, Ana."

When she says nothing, I add, "Perhaps we might remain as friends? I do enjoy your company."

"Do you now?" She echoes me in my snarky-CEO persona and I don't like it.

Then everything is thrown from sharp relief into blur. She bolts, leaping like a cat, up and out of bed, fully dressed but for her shoes and searches for them. Before I can even formulate another sentence, she's gone from the room. I follow quickly but impotently, knowing I've already sealed my fate. No words, no matter how eloquent, will stop her escape now. The thing in my throat inches higher, threatening my air supply. My eyes burn. Ana's flight finally forces me to find my damn voice.

"Ana? Where are you going? Ana?"

She entirely ignores me so I catch up with her and grasp her arm to arrest her progress. She jerks it away from me.

"Let go," she snarls, a tremor running through her admonishment. She makes a grab for her things on the entry table. Earlier I had to laugh when she left her jacket and purse on the priceless Louis XVI. It's one of the things that attract me to her, her complete innocent cluelessness. Then again, she was half asleep at the time.

I want her to stop. Not to leave.

So badly.

I don't know how to reverse the process I set in motion. "Ana, wait. I don't want to part on these terms. Please. Stay and let's discuss this further."

"There's nothing to discuss. Good-bye, Christian. Have a nice life."

Even the elevator conspires against me, its doors opening the instant she presses the call button.

Then she's gone. The lump is now at the back of my throat, clogging it, choking me.

...

Pacing is overrated; it does nothing to make one feel better. All it does is burn a little nervous energy and wear out the floor or carpet. Yet I do it. I've been doing it now for the better part of an hour.

Why did I send her away? We were having a beautiful evening that would only have gotten better. Why did I sabotage it? Will she ever forgive me? Should I even ask her for forgiveness? Shouldn't I stick to my guns and walk the fuck away? After about an hour I can stand it no longer. The moment the thought enters my brain I'm on my laptop sending an email:

 _ **Ana, I don't want you to think unkindly of me. Please understand that I do this not because it's what I want—for it's not, trust me. I do it because I don't want to hurt you or contaminate your purity with the filth of my brokenness. I truly hate how we left it today. Please show me your generosity of spirit by having breakfast or lunch with me tomorrow so we might clear the air. I'll await your reply.**_

What if she doesn't go near her computer until tomorrow? She's probably upset and won't. I'll send her a text too. Before the thought finishes running through my brain, my phone is in my hand to send the text:

 _ **ANA, I SENT YOU AN EMAIL. PLEASE READ IT NOW. CHRISTIAN**_

I wait and wait. Pace. Play the piano until my fingers ache. It's two o'clock in the morning. No response from the girl I sent away tonight.

...

No more Anastasia. She never answered either my text or my email. In the days that follow, I force her out of my mind, concentrating on business matters, and in my few downtime hours, I exercise like I'm possessed—running, kickboxing with Claude and riding my bike hard through the streets of downtown Seattle. I am trying to outrun my demons but it's not possible.

A whole month goes by. A month without whips, a month without sex, a month without Anastasia. I made it through with flying colors. Except that I thought of her every night, missed her every night, wanted her with every fiber of my body.

Every.

Night.

Mulish is a word that's been used to describe me and I suppose it's fair. I delude myself into thinking that with each day, it gets easier. Perhaps it's even true. Until one night I get home from work very late and I receive my online report from the news service I employ. I provide the company with meta tags and every time a news article appears on the Internet containing one of those tags, the service notifies me and relevant personnel. My name is one, Grey Holdings another, all GH subsidiary titles, and one recent addition to the list: Anastasia Steele. Tonight Ms. Steele made it into the news.

I open the link to the article in question. There she is, smiling innocently at the camera.

Anastasia Steele on the arm of Kent Gable at a charity event. _Tonight._ After she promised me she'd retire from Madame Irina's.

All the blood in my body rushes to my head. I clatter out and send her an immediate email:

 ** _My dear Ana, I was laboring under the impression that you and I struck a deal some six weeks ago. I assisted you with your legal problems with the proviso that you in turn would immediately terminate your employment with Irina Bordeaux. It has come to my attention that you remain in her employ and even completed an assignment for her this very evening. I trust that this information is false and that you are still abiding by our agreement._**

 **— _Christian_**

I follow up with a text:

 **I'VE SENT YOU AN EMAIL. PLEASE READ IT ASAP.**

I'm incensed. She promised me! Who does she think she's dealing with—some college frat boy? I run a huge chunk of corporate America, my decisions directly affect the Dow Jones on a daily basis; I employ tens of thousands of people, significantly helping to keep the U.S. GNP healthy. And I helped her—a stranger—out of a precarious situation, only asking her to follow one simple instruction: stop working for Irina.

What does she do in return?

She defies me by ignoring my request. My rules. My reign. I'm going to tan her hide.

...

"Mr. Grey?"

"What is it?" My voice is brusquer than I intended but I'm operating on less than three hours of sleep.

 _Thanks to Anastasia._

"Your mother's on line one, sir."

"My mother?" Shit. I guess I forgot to get back to her. "Yes, I'll take it, thanks, Heather." I depress the button on the desk phone. "Mom?"

"Christian, love, I know you're a very busy man but a quick text back to confirm for dinner wouldn't hurt too much, would it?"

She always makes me feel like an errant child and without any real effort on her part, it seems. "Sorry, Mom. It slipped my mind. Tonight, right?"

"Yes, tonight. Eight p.m." A pause. "Will you be bringing… anyone?"

"No, Mom. It'll just be me. I'll see you at eight?"

"Yes. Bye now, sweetie."

Ugh. That was painful. Grace tiptoed around it but I know she'd be thrilled if I were bringing Anastasia tonight. _I'd_ be thrilled if I were bringing Anastasia tonight. Unfortunately I took care of that relationship—if I could even characterize it as one.

I've spent countless waking nights wondering first why I did what I did and whether or not it was even remotely possible to undo the damage I wrought. I don't like the practice of extended introspection and yet I'm always doing it, whether in therapy or in personal regret of my impulsive behavior. This time the sting just won't fade the fuck away.

I miss that little girl.

...

It's not until I'm moments away from being seated at the dinner table that I realize I'm to have the delight of Katherine Kavanagh's company. What is it about that woman that just rubs me the wrong way?

Mia brought a date to dinner tonight and we're all assessing him. Poor guy didn't realize that Mia has four men to vet any male who dares step across this threshold to date our fair princess. Even Zander has his dander up. Zander and his dander. I chuckle into my glass of wine.

I'm trying to focus on dinner and not on the conversation around me. One of our kitchen staff has been trying her damnedest to get me to fuck her ever since she was hired on when I was sixteen or seventeen. Twelve years later—twelve!— and she still hasn't given up. Every time she serves me tonight she manages to get her abundant tits in my face—the woman's pathetic.

The meal, however, is superb as always. I'm tucking into the perfectly prepared _coq au vin_ when I hear my father ask me about Anastasia. Ahh. Why'd you have to go there, Dad?

In the main, the problem is I have no idea about where or how Ana is—apart from where she was last night—and can't even come up with a lie since Katherine could and probably would call me on it publicly, if I know her type—and I do. So I just glance imploringly toward her, hoping she'll be decent enough to jump in to answer my father's question. Thankfully she does, but it's her answer that winds me up instantly.

"Oh," she says airily, "Ana's in Europe right now. Milan to be specific."

"How nice," I hear my mother exclaim. "What's she up to? Is it just a vacation?"

 _Yes, what is she up to, Katherine? Do tell._

"It's business related, that's all I know. I'll be sure to tell her you asked for her, Grace. And Carrick," she adds, shooting my parents a warm smile.

"Yes, darling Kate, please do," my mother says. "Ana is such a sweet young woman. I very much enjoyed meeting her."

Kate smiles and winks at me. Grating.

After dinner I make a beeline for Kavanagh. "Excuse me, Katherine."

"Please call me Kate. Katherine sounds like something right out of Jane Austen."

 _Whatever_. I nod and try hard to arrange my mouth into a smile but I'm sure it appears more like a grimace of agony because that's what Kavanagh inspires in me. "What is Ana doing in Milan?"

"As I said, Christian, she's there on business. That's all I know."

"Business?" I repeat incredulously. "How could she be there on business when she's unemployed?"

"She's no longer unemployed, Christian, and that's all I know. Sorry."

Red flags pop up at the way she dismisses me. Either she's lying or at the very least obfuscating, and I will find out why. _Business._ What business could Anastasia possibly have in Milan?

During fashion week.

When designers flock to Milan to debut their new lines.

Designers such as Kent Gable.

I'm going to wring her graceful little neck.

The butler announces Fiona Stewart. Mia pops up to greet her friend as the former sashays into the dining room, very late for dinner. When her eye catches mine, she grins smugly. I simply nod to acknowledge her; I'm starting to intensely dislike the woman and sorely regret ever having anything to do with her. What was I thinking, for God's sake?

Why in hell did Mia have to invite Fiona tonight? Is it not enough that I have to be humiliated by the fact that everyone here this evening is now aware that Anastasia walked out on me? The silly woman has the nerve to put her foot on my leg under my parents' dining table. Fucking disrespectful. My hand itches to grab it and twist her ankle until she screams. She does not know with whom she's dealing—I was uncharacteristically tame with her in Irina's dungeon. If I find her there again, she'll meet a much different man.

Dominant.

 _Sadist._

I'll stripe her ass but fucking good.

"So Christian," she says when I firmly push her foot off my knee, "are you alone tonight?"

"Alone? No, I'm with my entire family." _Are you an idiot tonight, Fiona?_

"I meant without a date, Christian. Certainly I know you're with your family."

Grace must notice the murderous look on my face for she jumps in. "Fiona, Mia tells me you're looking for employment. Is that correct?"

Again the stupid woman looks at me. "Yes, Mrs. Grey, that's right. I do have a part-time job of sorts," she comments, looking at me and winking, "but I'm still looking for something full-time and well paying."

My mother pretends she doesn't see the smirk and wink at me. Honestly Ms. Stewart is asking for a serious dress down and I'll be only too happy to give one to her. Acting as if nothing is amiss, Grace continues the conversation. "I see. What field are you interested in? Your degree is in the liberal arts, isn't that right?"

"Art history. I'd love to get something in a private gallery. Museums don't pay very well."

"Yes, but museum work is prestigious and could lead to more lucrative assignments."

"True but these pesky credit card companies don't want to wait for me to establish my career," Fiona says with a guilty smile.

"Ah," Grace says. "Credit cards are an instrument of the devil. Won't your father help you out, dear?"

Fiona flushes right down to the dark roots of her badly dyed hair—looks like she's saving on salon services as well. I smile at my mother for I know she embarrassed Fifi on purpose. Grace knew Fiona was intentionally making me uncomfortable and hell hath no fury like a mother protecting her young.

"No, my father thinks I need to start carrying my own weight. He'll be sorry when I have to take desperate measures."

Grace's dark blue eyes widen. "Is it as bad as that, Fifi?"

"Worse, but let's talk about something more pleasant. Christian, I wonder if you're free this weekend?"

"No, I'll be out of town," I say evenly. I'll be out of town every time she tries to see me and if I ever catch her at Irina's, she's in for a beating that she'll never forget.

Between Kavanagh's announcement and Fiona's arrival dinner is ruined for me. Pretending to get an important call from Hong Kong, I excuse myself and almost run out to my car. Taylor is awaiting me and I'm grateful for his steady presence as I am so much of the time. "Let's go home, Jason."

"Yes, sir."

When I get home, I call Irina.

"Hey darling. What's up?"

"I think you know. First, I thought we had an understanding when it came to Anastasia Steele? Now I hear she's in Milan with Kent Gable. What the hell, Irina?"

"Christian, I tried to dissuade her from continuing with Kent but she insisted. Honestly, in this matter her word supersedes yours, Christian. Ultimately it remains her decision."

"Oh, really? And the fact that you stand to make thousands on her doesn't factor into your decision, Irina?"

"Of course it does. I'm a businessperson, just as you are, my dear."

"How about if I yank all my support from you? Will those thousands be worth the cost?"

A long silence descends, to the point of my starting to think the call dropped. "What is your obsession with this? Have you fallen for Ana?"

"Do you have to ask, Irina? I think you know me well enough by now to know that's not possible."

"Hmm. I'm not so sure about that. Look, I'll speak to her again but the truth is that I don't want to alienate Kent either. He's a dream client."

"Right. Everybody loves Kent. I have another little problem."

"Yes?"

"Fiona Stewart. She called herself Toni here?" Fiona thought it was amusing to use Toni's name for her work as an escort and prostitute. They have similar looks and apparently little Fifi doesn't like Mia's other friends, especially those who've expressed an interest in Mia's brother.

"Yes, what about her? She's proven to be a disappointment. She's always late for assignments and she showed up to a black-tie affair looking a little rough. The client was mortified. I fined her for that one."

"Yes, well, I told you that I knew her through my sister. She's often at my parents' home and of late she's been making pointed remarks and innuendos about me. I need to nip that in the bud. It was shockingly poor judgment on my part to take her into the leathersex room. Now I'm paying for that error."

"Oh really? Well, sweetheart, leave it to me. I'll take care of Ms. Stewart and you will not have to do a thing."

"Thanks, Irina. Appreciate it." I disconnect, grinning from ear to ear. Irina is protective of my reputation and I know she'll be vicious to the silly bitch. Wish I could be there.

...

I can't sleep and it's not even nightmares keeping me awake. It's knowing that Anastasia is in Milan with another man and I'm here in Seattle so far away from her. I sit at the piano, fingers coaxing the keys into beautiful notes but no melody is haunting enough to take me out of my head.

I down two tumblers of Maker's Mark. I go to the exercise room and run on the treadmill until I'm drenched in sweat and then, after a quick rinse, head up to the rooftop swimming pool to do laps.

Nothing works. Why did I force her away? I wish I could go back in time and get a redo. I knew I made a grave mistake almost from the moment the words left my mouth. Not almost, but exactly when. Once they were out it was already too late.

Fuuuck.

By six a.m. I've commandeered a company jet, dragged Brad—my favorite pilot—out of bed to file a flight plan, and we're in the air by nine-thirty. I call Andrea from the runway and ask her to track down one of my PR people to get the skinny on Kent Gable's schedule in Milan this week. With any luck I'll have Anastasia in hand by my arrival tonight. Anxiety and anticipation are at war within me, neither able to claim dominion. It's my new reality since meeting this girl so I might as well just accept it and damn well get used to it.

...

It's not at all difficult to find her—she stands out like a diamond among ordinary rocks. I bide my time until she separates from Gable and then I'm up. It couldn't be more perfect if I had planned it myself—she goes out to the patio that is practically empty, and the few people outside are too occupied with one another to pay much heed to us. As I stride up behind her, I mull over the best way to handle the situation.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" _Probably not the best way…_

She spins around in shock and it's a satisfying moment, I'll admit… until she gives me some serious attitude.

"I think I'm drinking Prosecco and waiting for Kent. What do you think you're doing?"

"I think I'm about to spank a woman in full view of a ballroom of people dressed up in evening clothes."

"I dare you," she says, her voice trembling, making my hands itch to do it.

"Ahhaha, Ana, if you learn anything at all about me, then you should learn never to dare me. I cannot resist picking up a gauntlet once it's thrown down." I lean close to her. "Be careful for there's a bench right over there and it's the perfect height for putting you over my knee. Do you understand?"

And here she goes, asking me what business it is of mine what she does. Does this woman know nothing about the honor of an agreement? I held up my side and so I fully expect her to do the same. What is so surprising about that reasonable expectation?

It's called a gentleman's agreement. Does she think because she's female she's exempt from upholding it?

The woman is infuriating. One simple rule is all I asked. Would it kill her? Is it that she doesn't want to give me an iota of satisfaction? I roll my neck in annoyance, the collar stays of my shirt pinching me.

"Ana, do you recall my telling you I don't share?" My control over my escalating temper is admirable, I think. I deserve a pat on the back.

"Share? Share what?"

"Don't be obtuse. You know what I'm talking about."

"No, I don't. If you mean share me, then you're not sharing. I'm all Kent's at this point. What are you talking about, Christian?"

 _What? I have to put my hands in my pockets before I shake her violently or really do put her over my knee and spank her ass in full view of everyone here_. "You're all Kent's? Really?"

"Yes, for the moment," she replies but flushes at her bravado. "I'm not involved in any romantic dalliance at all with anyone… though I've met a few Italian contenders lately."

"Ana, I—"

I stop because words refuse to come and she looks so beautiful and I've missed her to the point of pain. Her plump pink lips are slightly parted, perfectly kissable, and as soon as the thought slides into my head I act on it. I slip my arm around her waist and yank her to me, covering her lips with mine and sweeping my tongue inside.

Ah, nirvana. Her mouth is so sweet and warm. I fucking love kissing this girl but alas, I have to let her breathe. "I've missed you, Ana," I admit to her. "Why didn't you return my messages?"

"Why bother?" Her voice is breathless. "You made yourself perfectly clear the last time we met."

 _I did, didn't I?_ And obviously hurt her badly. "When are you returning to the States?"

"Early next week."

"Can you come to my hotel room tonight?" I employ my most seductive whisper and yet she still turns me down. Before I can say another word I hear Gable come up behind me.

"Well, well, what a coincidence, Mr. Grey. How nice to see you again."

I turn and see him standing behind me, an annoying little smirk on his face. I muster my manners and offer him a smile. "Mr. Gable. Congratulations on a successful launch. I understand your line was well received."

"Yes, thank you. Are you in Milan for fashion week?"

"I'm in town for Ms. Steele, but she claims she's yours for the duration of the trip."

"Oh? You're here in Milan to try to steal my beautiful companion?"

Really? Does the man actually want to take me on? I study him, considering my next move but he speaks up again.

"Tell you what, Mr. Grey. Since you came so far, if my beautiful companion agrees, I have no problem with her visiting with you after we leave this party. Fair enough?"

I suppose that's the best I can expect… and fair, all things considered. I direct my focus back to Anastasia. "Appropriately enough, I'm staying at the Gray. I hope to see you there tonight, Ms. Steele, so we might continue our conversation. I wish you both a good evening."

Steaming at the thought of Anastasia spending her time with Gable, I return to my hotel room and order room service: a bottle of Glenlivet, a bottle of my favorite 2001 Malbec, a platter of fruit, and mineral water. Then I sit down to wait, careful to just sip the scotch. I don't want to get drunk. Two hours later my phone alerts me to a text.

From Anastasia.

 _ **Sorry, I can't make it tonight—too tired. Maybe tomorrow for coffee? Let me know. A**_

Noooo! I need to see her tonight. I quickly reply before she can put the phone down.

 _ **Please come tonight. I have to leave in the a.m. I only want to talk privately with you. Please, Ana?**_

I wait, pacing across the hotel suite, feeling a sense of desperation and gloom descend over me. If her pattern of ignoring my texts continues... I look at my watch. If she doesn't reply within the next ninety seconds, I'm calling her. Decision made, my phone pings with a message from her five seconds later.

 _ **On my way now. Be there in ten.**_

Thank God! I hurriedly exit the suite to wait for her downstairs. Three cabs pull up with other passengers before the one I've been waiting for finally arrives. I rush to pay the driver for her fare.

She looks so pretty. As always. Does she think of me when deciding what to wear? I dressed for her tonight—all in black because I know she likes it. I need some magic on my side.

"Thank you, Ana."

She says nothing, merely nods and takes my hand. We walk through a lively hotel lobby, people drinking at the adjacent bar and music escaping out every time the door is opened.

"You didn't have to wait outside for me, you know. I'm perfectly capable of finding your suite myself."

 _Should I tell her the truth?_ "I didn't want to leave anything to chance. I thought you might pull up and then change your mind so I figured I'd hedge my bet."

She smirks and I know I was dead on. She must have started to change her mind. We ride the elevator silently to the seventh floor.

I open the suite door, allowing her first entrance as my heart leaps in my chest. Right now I wish I could forgo the words, the apologies, the explanations, and just tear off her clothes and make desperate love to her. It's been so long since I've had sex—I've never gone this long without since I started… but Ana's ruined me in so many ways. I find other women colorless now—all I can think of is her and in any comparison the others are always lacking.

As I turn to close the door she spins around to face me, perhaps confront me, catching me off guard, and I choose to make the most of it, sweeping her into my arms and kissing her. I nip at her when she refuses to grant me entrance, licking and biting those lush pink lips. She's stubborn so I bite down harder and she gasps in surprise, giving me an unguarded moment to dive in and taste her again. As soon as my tongue invades her sweet mouth, my cock gets as hard as granite so I grind on her to enable her to feel what she does to me. I want her to know.

She gives in. Her arms go around my neck, and the way it makes me feel drags a sigh from my chest. I've waited so long to feel her affection again. Does she still love me? I wonder. After all I did, hurting her feelings and then pissing her off... How durable is her love?

When finally I allow her to breathe air again she murmurs, "I could swear you said you wanted to talk."

"There's more than one way to communicate. I prefer this way. Come." I lead her deeper into the suite.

Her body language is telling me things, things I don't like. She perches on the very edge of the sofa, ready to flee at a moment's notice. She's here to listen to my explanation and leave. That's her evening's agenda.

Mine is radically different.

"Christian, why am I here? I don't understand."

"Ana, I think it's quite apparent what's going on."

"Not to me. Why did you follow me to Milan? It's not exactly around the corner and you're a busy man."

"Exactly. I don't have time for this nonsense. I followed you because I learned you came here with Gable."

Her eyes widen. Why is she fucking surprised? I've warned her time and again that I'm a jealous man. What's it going to take for her to accept it?

"But why does that concern you? I really don't understand. You told me we were done. You were very sure of yourself."

"Yes, but you promised me you wouldn't work for Irina anymore."

She dares to roll her eyes at me. I want to belt her ass so badly, watch it go from pale to pink to fiery red, aglow with heat.

"I always told you I wanted to keep Kent. I like him, Christian… and he's a perfect gentleman. I plan to honor our deal otherwise. I thought you made the stipulation because you didn't want to see me get hurt. Am I wrong?"

"No." _She's trying to entrap me._

"Then?"

"I'm jealous—I told you I don't share well."

"But there's no sharing," she insists, stomping her foot. "I'm not with you… and I'm not even with Kent. What's really the problem here?"

"I don't like seeing you with him." _I know it sounds ridiculous but there it is._

She's chewing her lip and it brings images to my mind—I want to bite her everywhere and drive her crazy with need. Withhold her orgasm until she begs me, fucking pleads with me. Maybe even deny her release for the entire night. Her next words slice into my fantasy. "Do you realize how ridiculous you're being?"

I shoot up, my anxiety my locomotion. "I don't think I'm being ridiculous. We had a deal, you and I." I'm speaking very slowly, enunciating each word clearly so there can be no misunderstanding. I'm tired of repeating myself with her. "I held up my end of it and you broke yours. Why is it ridiculous that I insist you honor your word?"

She stands too. _Sit down, Ana, sit the fuck down_. _You're not going anywhere._

"Christian, I'm done here. As soon as I return home, I am going to contact McEvoy and ask him to send me the bill for his services. Then no more favor and I owe you nothing. Good night." She flounces to the door, fury in every step. Now what the hell do I do? This is going from bad to worse.

Panic makes me reach out and grab her arm before she can get out the door. She tries to pull out of my grasp. "Wait," I say, nearly begging. "Please don't go."

She jerks violently around and her eyes are blazing with fire. I've never seen Anastasia this angry and it's unsettling.

"Listen carefully. I'm tired and I want to go back to the suite I share with Kent and go to sleep. I'm done with you, tonight and forever. You may be used to people falling prostrate at your feet but I'm not going to be one of them. I know I'm young and naïve but I'm no fool and I didn't fall off the turnip truck yesterday either. You will not dictate to me how I should live my life and who my friends will be. Goodnight, Christian."

And with that she opens the door and leaves. Do I let her go? Why the fuck did I come to Italy?

The voice in my head tells me to let her go. She's now firmly part of the past. Your own damn fault, stupid ass. You sabotaged a good relationship and now it's over. Finished. Accept it.

I don't go after her.

For sixty seconds.

And then I do.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

I catch up to her as she's exiting the lobby doors. I have to call out to her to stop her momentum. "Ana."

She stops but doesn't turn to face me.

"Please turn around."

Slowly she rotates, her eyes glued to mine. "What is it?"

 _I can't give her up. I have to fix this._ "Please come back up and talk to me. I'm sorry I acted like a jerk."

She sighs but it sounds more like a sob. "I'm tired, so tired, and I need sleep. I'd be willing to meet with you tomorrow but you said you have to leave. Anyway, I just don't see either of us getting anywhere with each other. Let's just agree to disagree."

"You can sleep in my suite. I won't molest you; I promise."

"Well then, what's the point?" She grins but her eyes are flat with exhaustion.

 _If only she were serious._ "Well, I can molest you if you're amenable. Come, Ana. We'll sleep and then talk tomorrow. Please, baby."

"I told Kent I'd be home tonight."

"Ana, you can call him and tell him you won't be and you know it. Come on, please. Don't make me beg."

"I'd rather like to hear you beg, Mr. Grey. It would be a nice change of pace from your imperious commands."

 _Fine, I'll beg. But you'll pay for it someday soon._ "Please, pretty Ana, please stay with me tonight?"

She gives me a lopsided smile. "Okay, fine. I'll stay."

In the elevator I reach for her hand again. Merely holding it calms me, the heat of her skin somehow reassuring to me. I escort her to the suite without saying another word until we're inside.

"You take the bedroom, Ana."

"No. I'll take the sofa."

"No, Ana. Bedroom. Now go to sleep."

"Are you sure? I—"

"I insist," I interrupt, unable to resist touching her. My finger brushes down her cheek, whisper soft. "Go, get some sleep. You're exhausted."

"What time do you have to leave in the morning?"

"I have a company jet at my disposal so there's no hard and fast departure but I do have an important meeting day after tomorrow. It's a long flight and time difference. I should get going by no later than noon, which will get me home at a reasonable hour."

"Okay, so we'll get up by eight. That will give us an hour to talk and you'll still have a few hours to eat and get ready to leave. Sound okay?"

I nod. Right at the moment I can't speak for I have a raging hard-on and want to fuck this woman very badly. Unluckily for me, she probably won't allow it.

"I'll consider that a yes. Goodnight, Christian."

I finally doze off, exhaustion overcoming my discomfort on the overly soft and much too short sofa. In my dream Anastasia is calling to me.

"Christian, are you awake?"

Reluctantly I drag open my eyes. "I am now," I grumble. Reaching for the table lamp, I switch it on to see her all rumpled and sexy. "Why are you?"

"Couldn't sleep. I thought I'd get some water. Listen, you need to get into the bed. You're too tall for the sofa."

"I'll manage, Ana. I'd rather you be comfortable, baby."

"Who said I won't be?"

"Honestly, this couch is too soft for sleeping."

"I'm not going to sleep on the couch, Christian. We can share the bed—as friends," she adds quickly. "I mean, we've shared a bed before. Come on."

Score. I flip the blanket off my legs and, before she can change her mind, quickly follow her into the bedroom, waiting only for her to slide between the sheets first. The urge to take her in my arms is titanic but I resist it for I don't want to frighten her off. Instead, I get close enough to feel her body heat and shut my eyes. The next time I open them, it's morning, an overly bright sun streaming through the blinds.

Anastasia is still asleep so I gingerly slip out of the bed, careful not to rouse her, and go into the living room to order some espresso. While I wait I cast my thoughts back over the last twenty-four hours and it dawns on me that I haven't slept so well as I did last night in… I don't know how long.

I _do_ know how long.

The last time I slept with her.

The coffee arrives in nine minutes, served by a lanky Italian teenager with a sulky expression and a Roman nose. On the tray are two cappuccinos, two pitchers of cold and steamed milk, a chilled carafe of fresh orange juice and two flaky croissants with pats of butter carved into roses. I tip the boy and, readying the coffees, go into the bedroom to roust my lady for our talk.

Being already awake she saves me the trouble, sitting up in bed, pretty as a Degas painting.

"Morning. Sleep well?"

Her responding smile disarms me as she murmurs softly, "Actually, yes. Really well, thank you. How about you?"

I settle on the edge of the bed and hand her a coffee. "I slept just fine once I was in bed with you. Thanks for that, by the way."

She shrugs. " _Your_ bed. Mmm." Taking a dainty sip of the coffee, she closes her eyes as if in a swoon. "Mmm, is this a latte?"

"Cappuccino, actually. Is that alright?"

"Mmhmm. Italy is spoiling me."

We're quiet for a few minutes, each in our own head. I'm trying to conjure up magical words that will make things go my way—all the way—ending with my impossibly hard cock buried deep inside her tight little cunt. Thank God she can't read my mind.

"What time is it anyway?" she asks after a while.

"Just past seven. I wanted to let you sleep later but since you were awake and the coffee arrived, I brought it in."

"I'm glad you did. I don't want to hold up your travel plans today."

I say nothing because I fervently wish I didn't have to leave her. Reminding me that I do pierces me with a pang of regret.

Taking a deep breath—never a good sign for me—she readies herself, sits up straight, and says, "Okay, then. I'm here. You're here. Declare yourself."

"Declare myself? What do you mean?"

She launches into the whole saga of our brief, even pathetic, relationship... ending with my showing up here.

"I just don't get it—really, Christian. I had offered to go way outside of my comfort zone in order to keep you in my life and you turned me down flat. What do you want from me?"

She stops abruptly, her voice shaking. Her emotions hijacked her little angry speech and we're in choppy waters right now. I drain the rest of my coffee, trying to stall for time. I'm no good in emotionally charged moments like this. Any kind of irrational behavior makes me nervous—my own and especially other people's.

"Ana," I start, scrambling for the right words, the ones that will work magic, the ones that will bring her back to me. "I don't know how to say what I need to without sounding like a complete jackass. Perhaps the problem is that I am one. What can I say? You walked by me and I was changed in some perceptible way. It was the single most bizarre thing that's ever happened to me. To misquote Caesar, I came, I saw, I wanted. Not necessarily in that order." I can't stop myself from grinning a little at the unintentional—and dirty—double entendre.

"No, you left out the conquered part—and you achieved that. You conquered me and then tossed me aside. I understand the first time you walked…" she swallows visibly. "I had spoken out of turn and said something unkind about your… lifestyle. And we had done nothing more than share a cup of coffee. But this last time…"

My hand automatically reaches for her. I want to erase the pain I caused her but I don't know how, or even if it's possible. "I know.

"Ana, I'm damaged goods. It's why I find the power exchanges so profitable… for me personally. I don't have to worry about hurting anyone's feelings—and I still get laid." I have to smile at the expression on her face. Apparently it's still easy to shock Ms. Steele. "Win-win," I add almost apologetically.

"Not feelings, no," she says and reclaims her hand. "I don't know if I'm prying too much but I'll ask anyway: why are you damaged? I've met your family and everyone seems happy and affectionate and well adjusted. Yet—"

I cut her off, eager to get this part over with. "Grace is not my biological mother, Ana. Before my father married Grace, he was married to my wretched excuse for a mother. She was the one…" My eyes descend to my empty coffee cup in my lap, afraid I've already spilled too much—words, not coffee.

She sees my gaze shift and naively offers her own coffee, as if that's what I'm searching for. "Want some of mine?"

"Italian coffee is strong. If I have more, I'll be jumping out of my skin."

I insist on holding her hand, caressing the silky skin lightly with my thumb. I desperately want to fuck her. Would she let me? There's only one way to find out. Deepening my voice, I look into her blue, blue eyes. "Would you let me make love to you?"

Instantly her eyes widen, her mouth drops open. Should I interpret that as a no?

"I can't believe you just asked me that. We're having a discussion here, Christian, nothing more."

Pouting probably won't help but I do it anyway. Why can't women just approach sex like men do? A physical and biological imperative, no fuss, no muss. Just get it done and get on with your day. She's still talking…

"I want more; give me more. Are you saying your early childhood is the reason why you ditched me? And you still haven't begun to answer to my satisfaction why you're here in Milan."

"I told you: I saw you and I was changed."

"You saw me?"

I nod. "… and I had to have you… but I knew all along it was a mistake, that I was corrupting you. I didn't want to do that."

"What do you mean, you saw me… do you mean at the restaurant?"

Again, I nod in assent.

"… and you recognized me from seeing me once, for a second no less, weeks before?"

"I did. How could I forget such an angelic face? As I said, if I hadn't been with a date that evening, I surely would have come over and introduced myself. For what it's worth, that kind of instant attraction has never happened to me before. Never, Ana. Then at the party," I shrug, "it seemed like destiny."

She rockets out of her chair. "But Christian, you walked away from me… twice. I just don't understand your behavior."

 _Join the club._ "Neither do I, Ana. That's part of the problem."

"Can you at least explain why my being with Kent upsets you?"

 _Really? Again?_ "How many ways can I tell you I'm jealous?"

She actually stomps her foot and I have to swallow back my laugh. "Jealous of a gay man who happens to be in a long-term committed relationship?"

"I don't like knowing you're with him… being photographed with him…as his date. Laughing with him, whatever." I gesture with my hand, becoming beyond frustrated. _Why is it so impossible for her to understand how I feel?_ "It makes me feel insecure."

"Insecure about _what_? For God's sake, we're not in a relationship and never really were. The only thing between us is sex, Christian, that's it. When I offered you more, you turned me down. So what's this all about _really_ … why can't you let me be?"

"I don't exactly know," I reply, knowing I have to get control of this conversation before it runs away from me. I stand up now, dwarfing her. My much larger size is a psychological advantage and I'm not above using it. "But I have a proposition for you."

"And that would be…?"

"Let's try again." I kiss her elegant fingers, one by one. "We'll start slowly, more traditionally, and then when we get to know each other better later on, maybe I can take you into my room of wicked delights to rob you of your virtue…if you have any left by then."

She laughs at the funny face I make and her hand reaches to caress my cheek. "Okay, Christian, I'm willing to try, but what about Kent?"

"I know you like him, Ana, but I'd really prefer you stop these assignations. Especially if we begin to be seen in public together."

"I think I can agree but before I go all in, I'd like to speak with Kent first. Okay?"

 _Is she kidding?_ "So our future relationship hinges on whether or not Kent is willing to give you up as his beard?"

Her face flushes. "I didn't say that. I just want to talk to him. If I do give up going out publicly with Kent, I will not give him up as a friend, Christian. That's not even on the table."

"Fine!" Her acceptance of my proposition gives me license to manhandle her. I yank her close to me and kiss her. Aggressively. Teeth clashing, tongues twisting.

She pushes me back. "Stop it, you have no right to be angry."

"I'm not angry," I snarl. "I'm just desperate to fuck you."

She gasps but I can see she's considering it. Then, as if curtains drop down, the lust in her eyes fades and she says, "It's too soon, Christian. Don't you think? We've just now decided to try again."

"I can't think of a better way to seal the deal," I answer and my hands begin to roam. Before too long I feel her knees buckle and I know she's mine when her hand moves to my cock, feels how hard I am.

I pick her up and lay her gently on the bed. I spy one of my ties hanging on the doorknob and decide to use it. "Since you're in training for the dungeon, it's never too early to get started." I loop it around her wrists and then tie it to the headboard. "There you go, all ready to be ravished. Do you have any idea how sexy you look right now, Ana?"

She snorts in derision, shaking her head.

"Oh, yes, sexy as all get-out." I cast my glance around to find my phone: it's on the bedside stand. "Can I take a photo of you like that?"

"If you promise it won't make it on the Internet."

"I promise but I might use it as my wallpaper." I take the shot and then show it to her. "See? The very definition of sexy.

"Your shirt is riding up over your hips and your panties are skimpy enough to show some pretty things. Your nipples are standing at attention and you're tied to the bed, helpless and at the mercy of the viewer. Do you know how many hard-ons this picture could produce? But don't worry," I assure her, beginning my crawl to get to her, "I won't let anyone else see it. Anyone looking at this photo would receive an automatic death sentence. It's mine." I toss the phone back onto the table, and then roll up her t-shirt until it's around her restrained arms.

" _You're_ mine."

My lips follow a trail straight down, going from her mouth, down between her tits, past her belly button until I get to her pussy. My tongue makes circuits around her clit, never touching it directly, not going fast or slow but keeping the same steady rhythm. I know I'm tormenting her as her writhing and squirming are growing frantic, and her eyes are getting wild. Her desperation spurs me on. I could do this all day but I take mercy on her after she starts moaning softly and the urge to bury myself deep inside her becomes too big to resist.

I watch her face as she comes and it takes everything I have not to give in to my own climax. I've never put a condom on so fast. Hooking my arms around her knees, I lift her to the perfect height before pushing into her.

Oh God, it's almost too much, like a warm, wet fist squeezing me and refusing to let up. I count backward from one hundred to distract myself for a moment. The orgasm recedes a little, enough to continue soon but I wait another twenty seconds to be sure.

I pick up the pace now, back in control. As I hammer into her, I start to tell her things that are hard for me to say unless I'm seriously distracted—as I am now, by intense pleasure. I want her to know how much I care about her, how much I've missed her, how sorry I am for sending her away and hurting her so badly in the process… how much she's changed me without even trying.

I want her to know that I know her name and I've always thought of her as Anastasia and never as Ana. I want her to know… everything.

Will she listen?

...

Flying back to Seattle I'm sulking. I wanted to bring Anastasia back with me but I didn't have the balls to even ask. I knew she'd turn me down and I'd get angry and undermine all the good I curried with this trip.

She's mine again and I have to be satisfied with that big win. Intellectually I know Kent is not interested in her romantically but I'm still jealous. He likes her, maybe even loves her—what's not to love?—and I want her all to myself. I'm jealous and I'm selfish… but I'm not stupid. Once I'm confident of my place in her life, I'll put my foot down when it comes to her seeing other men, gay or not. Right now I have to play it nice and easy.

My phone rings at 35, 000 feet. Irina. "Grey."

"Hello, love. I have some good news for you."

"Oh?"

"Your little problem with Fiona Stewart is no more. I can guarantee she won't be troubling you in any way."

"How'd you manage that so quickly?"

"Wouldn't you rather keep your conscience clean. Plus have plausible deniability if it ever came back at you? Not that it will."

"I'm a consummate liar when necessary. Give me the details."

"I had her come in ostensibly to meet a new client and this new client put her into, hmm, how shall I put it? A very compromising position. We then took photos. My new digital camera is amazing—the clarity of the photos is just astounding. Every detail is clearly delineated… and since she was strung up with her face right above her vagina, there's no mistaking her identity nor is photoshopping likely with such a composition. After I showed her the photographs I explained to her that it's come to my attention that she's been running her mouth about my establishment and that it's in direct violation of the contract she signed. Would she like me to drag her into court and be forever associated with the taint of my disreputable company? She said no."

I chuckle at the straits in which Fiona found herself. Couldn't have happened to a more deserving person. "Thanks, Irina. I very much appreciate it."

"I made you a promise to always protect your reputation, Christian, and I will. I want you to feel free to play here with no repercussions."

"Thank you."

"Come by for dinner this week if you have time."

"I doubt I will this week. But I'll check my calendar back at the office and let you know for sure."

...

Despite having numerous contracts to review and a final decision to make on an important hire, I spend the rest of the flight in quiet contemplation of my personal life. Irina is a faithful friend to me but I fear our relationship is coming to its natural end. Will she be noble about it or cause me still more problems? I suspect Anastasia will not tolerate the association too much longer—she gets incensed every time she learns I've visited Irina's home, even when the reason is entirely innocent.

Sighing, I lean back into the Aeron chair. The company made several custom chairs especially to fit our two Gulfstreams. Considering the coin we dropped purchasing the ergonomic chairs for everyone at GH—even entry-level personnel—Aeron couldn't do enough for us. Having this level of comfort on long flights is paramount for our executives, especially those who travel constantly and do a lot of work on board. Apart from these two chairs, the plane is also equipped with recliners and a full-sized bed.

The chair, or my comfort is not heavy on my mind, however. Instead I'm contemplating about how jealous Anastasia is—just as territorial as I am only she refuses to admit it. I can easily see the fire flash in her eyes when another woman puts a hand on me and I know Mia's girlfriends are going to be problematic and I'm fairly sure she'll object to Nastassja as well.

Do I care?

Nah, Anastasia is worth more than all of them combined. I will miss Nastassja's company but if I could have Steele 24/7, it'll more than make up for that loss.

For any loss.

What the hell is going on with me and this girl? Is it some kind of co-dependency? I'll have to ask John at our next session. Oh shit. I pull out my phone to check my calendar and see my appointment is for tomorrow. Relieved that I didn't miss it, I close my eyes to try to sleep for a little while before the world crashes my party any minute now.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

As soon as I return to Seattle and Pacific time, the frenetic pace picks up again. We have multiple acquisitions going down at Grey Holdings, and I'm trying to keep track of all the moving parts. Over the years, I've been careful to surround myself with smart, reliable staff members but when we go into a new firm, it's always back to the drawing board, trying to weed out the bad and keep the good. I take Roz and Philip with me to SNS, our new solar energy firm, to start cleaning house. The upside to being insanely busy is I can't moon over Ana the way I do when I have time to think. I want to get her home and, if I'm honest, under my thumb—under all my fingers really. As the thought traipses through my brain, I smile and my cock twitches. I do love to fuck that girl.

Tomorrow. Finally. Ana's coming home tomorrow—earlier than expected, too. Thank God, because I don't think I could wait another day.

Tonight, I'm on my way to my parents' home—my mother insisted that I be there since my younger brother, home for a school break for a few days, is leaving again to spend time with our paternal grandparents in Arizona before he returns east to school. We have to always present a united front, for God's sake. I don't mind, but I'd hugely prefer if Ana were with me. It's strange and unsettling how much I've changed since I met her. What I'd really like to fucking know is whether the catalyst for that change is coming from me—or her?

I've discussed it with John. He thinks I was ready for a change and when a woman happened along who piqued my interest, all the gears were ready to engage. John Flynn loves cars so all his analogies revolve around them.

I arrive at Bella Vista—my parents' estate—at ten to eight, even though I was supposed to be here at six-thirty. There was too much going on today at GH for me to leave any earlier. I've been trying to keep on top of things so I could ease back a little when Ana gets home. I'm anxious to see her, to spend time with her.

I keep telling myself that I'm just responding to the newness of the relationship—that and she's a sweet girl. Not to mention fucking hot. Every now and then, though, a corrosive little fear enters my brain, telling me I'm falling hard and fast for this girl.

Forcing the unacceptable thought out of my head, I knock on the door and Frederick, the estate manager, answers it. "Hello, Christian, how are you?"

"Doing quite well, all things considered, thank you. And you? You're here late tonight."

"Very good, thanks. And yes, just trying to catch up on things after my vacation. Come in," he says, stepping aside, "everyone is in the dining room."

"Thank you. Is my mother in a good mood, do you know? I'm over an hour late."

"She seems to be, last I saw."

"Yes, well, let's hope she's on her second glass of wine by now." I grin and he returns it. I stride quickly to the dining room to join my family.

"Well, well, if it isn't the prodigal son returning home late for dinner." This from my father, who's smiling jovially. Seems he's already into his cups.

My mother gets up, gives me a peck on the cheek, and points to my chair. "Sit down. I'll go tell the staff to bring your dinner out.

I sit in the appointed chair and notice that, lucky me, Kate Kavanaugh is seated to my right. She smiles and I manage to return it. I think anyway. It might have better resembled a grimace of pain, which is tantamount to spending time with Kate, for me anyway. I'm not crazy about her, and though I try not to show it, it feels to me as if it's glaringly obvious.

Across the table Zander sits and as my eye catches his, he makes a face at me. I return it, and he makes an uglier face. I try to outdo him but he's seventeen and more rubbery than I am. When Kate catches him mid-face, he turns scarlet and I laugh. Hard.

"Zander," I say in a loud voice, "how is school going? Have you applied to colleges yet?"

"Yes, but I'm so sick of collegiate stuff. Can we talk about other things?"

"Certainly. Got any girlfriends?"

Shooting me a filthy look, he ignores the question and shifts his attention to Elliot. "Can I take your motorcycle out? It's just sitting in the garage looking all lonely."

"You still have that old thing?" I'm surprised my father let him store it in his garage all these years. Space is at a premium with my father's large car and boat collection.

"A motorcycle? Yay!" Kate says, clapping her hands. "Let's take a ride on it now."

Elliot smiles indulgently and kisses her temple. "I doubt it will run without some TLC first. I haven't ridden it in more than three years."

"I can get it primed and ready, Ayit."

"Ayit?" Kate asks, confused.

Laughing, Elliot hugs her. "Zander couldn't pronounce my name when he was little. He called me Ayit. Eventually everyone started calling me that."

Their public displays of affection are putting me in a foul mood—first, because I don't like Kate, and second, because I miss Ana.

Tomorrow.

"Zander, how are you going to work on the bike if you're leaving in the morning tomorrow?" My mother is eyeing Zander curiously. Maybe there was contention about him going to Arizona? I'm sure he'd rather stay around here where his friends are.

"I plan to come back to Seattle again, Mom. It's not like I'm taking off forever. I can start tonight and finish it up when I get home again."

My mother throws up her hands. "Whatever."

"Kate?"'

Her head whips around to me. I suppose she's not used to my addressing her directly. "Yes, Christian?"

"Are you picking up Ana tomorrow at the airport?"

"As a matter of fact, I am. Why do you ask?"

"I'd like to pick her up instead. Do you mind?"

"Um… I'm not sure that's a wise idea, Christian."

Heat rolls up my spine. How dare she? Taking a minute to get my rising anger under control, I realize that Ana must not yet have told her we've reconciled. "I take it you haven't spoken with Ana lately?"

"Uh… no. Why?"

I clear my throat to stall, unsure if I want this revelation to be common knowledge. Fuck it. They'll find out soon enough. "I made a trip to Milan earlier this week; Ana and I… resolved our differences. We're seeing each other again. Therefore," I look directly at her with my time-honed CEO expression, "I would like to meet her at the airport."

"You two reconciled? That's great," Kate says, not at all intimidated. "I'll text you the flight info. But it's going to cost you, I'm afraid."

Conversation around the table peters out suddenly and five pairs of eyes swivel toward her in astonishment. I'm already looking at the bitch. "What's the cost?" I snap out the words, trying not to let her get to me.

"I'm warning you it's steep, Christian," she says gleefully, obviously relishing the attention she's garnering. "Okay, here it is: I want five different flavors of that fabulous gelato they sell in that little shop by your office. Five." She holds up her hand, fingers spread.

I see smiles break out on everyone's face. Everyone's except mine, though I do my best to pretend. I just don't find her as charming as apparently everyone else does. Is it because I sense a natural enemy in the woman? Perhaps, since she has Ana's ear and I resent her influence over her. "You have a deal. Please text the information to the following number," I say and wait until she fishes out her phone from the tangle in her handbag, then I give her my personal number, regretting the fact that she'll now have it in her phone.

Everything is worth it, though, for it inches me closer to Ana. I only have a few more hours until I see her but time is dragging into eternity.

...

All the next workday I'm continually checking the time. Ana's flight gets into Sea-Tac at 3:51. I'm there by 3:30 and the flight is on schedule. As I wait outside of customs where passengers exit to move to the baggage claim, I try to distract myself from the anticipation tingling throughout my body. The way I feel right now is pissing me the fuck off. I'm a seasoned, affluent CEO. I'm responsible for thousands of people's employment, I make important decisions every day that may affect thousands, if not millions, of people. I know how to dress well, I've been brought up around the crème de la crème of Seattle society… and yet one little girl comes along and sends my well-ordered life and emotions into total disarray.

Total fucking disarray. Worse, I can't seem to do a fucking thing about it.

I've tried numerous ways to stop it, halt it in its progression. I've walked away, sent her away, scared her in my dungeon… I've even tried to become interested in other women.

Nothing. Worked.

She intrigues me, excites me… but more than that, she makes me happy. I've laughed more in the few months I've known her than in the ten years before meeting her. Not only do I find her extremely arousing, but I also genuinely like her company. We have… what do we have together?

Fun… we have fun together. I can't remember having so much fun with anyone else. Perhaps there's the difference.

The plane from Amsterdam—her connection—lands and my pulse starts to pick up. At that moment my cell rings—fuck me, it's a call I have to take. I don't want to miss her exit from the plane since she's expecting her girlfriend, not me, so I keep my eyes glued to the exit doors.

"What?" I can hear the snarl in my own voice so I know my caller can too, but I don't give a damn.

"Mr. Grey?"

I recognize Philip's voice on the other end of the line though the call originated from Andrea's line.

"What is it, Philip?"

"Mr. Grey, one of the attorneys found something in the fine print of the SNS options that could cause us problems down the road. Are you coming back to the office today?"

"I wasn't planning to. Can't Roz handle it?"

"Can't reach her. Do you know where she is?"

I sigh. Fucking Roz and her midday escapades. "No, I don't. Look, try to handle it yourself. You know our position on this acquisition. If you need me you can always reach me by phone. If necessary we can work through it that way. I'm not coming back today under any circumstances, Philip."

"Understood. I'll keep you posted, sir."

I disconnect the call, look up, and there she is: my beautiful Anastasia. She's wearing a filmy navy blue layered dress with spaghetti straps, short hemline, and long legs. The high heels are pure bonus.

I need nothing else.

And now my trousers are becoming tight and uncomfortable. I wish I had the helicopter to get us home faster. Fuck. I'm not sure my dick can hold out.

Her eyes light up when she notices me and she gives me a big smile. I can't wait to touch her so I step closer, trying to reach her sooner.

"Where's Kate?"

Is she disappointed? I brush off that thought and give her a big grin. ""I bribed her to let me come instead."

"Oh?" She smiles with delight. That's my girl.

"Yes, it was costly. She wants five flavors of gelato from the little Italian café by my office."

She giggles, and I feel it in my cock. "Leave it to Kate and her desperate need for ice cream. Uh, I need to go to luggage claim."

"Yes. Let's go. Are you exhausted?"

"I slept a lot on the plane but I do feel odd."

I should probably take her directly home since she's feeling jet lagged. Pamper her. It would be bad form to throw her on the bed and rip off her clothes as soon as we're through the door. I should let her rest a bit… for at least ten minutes.

"Christian?"

"Yes?"

"When did you date that Victoria's Secret model?"

Victoria's Secret model? What is she…? Then I remember. The benefit. I took Nastassja. How did she find out?

"Well?"

"Do you mean Nastassja?"

"Yes, that's who I mean. I saw a photo of the two of you in a magazine on the plane. It just so happened to be open to that page as I walked past…"

"Great." My fucking luck, of course. "I had to attend that fundraiser; I was one of the sponsors so it was imperative. I asked Nastassja because she was free and she and I go back a ways—I feel comfortable with her." I pause, unsure if I should continue but she says nothing so I finish. "I hadn't yet decided to go after you, Ana." God, I hope that wasn't a mistake to say, but it's the truth. I was trying to talk myself out of her.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay. Let's get my bag and get out of here. I missed you."

"I missed you, too. So much."

I watch her closely for signs that she was being insincere when she brushed it off but she looks normal, as if she's moved on already. Shaking my head in near disbelief, I lean over to give her a kiss. I have an insatiable need to kiss her lush lips. It's a sublime sensation and I never felt quite this way before. "Thank you, baby, for not making a big deal over it. It was really nothing."

"I'm counting on that, Christian. And from here on in, I won't be seeing any more of these types of photo, correct?"

"Absolutely correct," I kiss her again. "Will you come to my place?"

...

All hell could be breaking loose at GH and I'm planning to be in bed with Anastasia. What's more, I don't give a rat's ass. My senior staff members simply have to learn how to handle problems in mine and Roz's absence. Yes, we have major and concurrent deals going down but Roz and I have put everything into place and there's no reason why Philip, Andrea, and Marcel cannot handle whatever problem crops up as things progress.

I have no idea why Roz is unreachable but I know I'm too busy right now to attend to these little bullshit issues. I have my priorities...

I'm going to be fucking Ana.

Once we get home, I insist Ana take a nap while I lock myself in my home office to make a few phone calls. First one is to Philip.

"It's Grey. What's going on?"

"Line 163 was the problem child. It was a continuance of stock options for SNS principals—the CEO, CFO, and COO—that extended well after the merger. Schoen claimed ignorance, which has to be pure bullshit. I had legal redact that line and sent it back to them to initial."

"Did Frank see it?" Frank Evans is the lead attorney in GH's legal department.

"I'm not sure that Frank himself eyeballed it but Hagel told me it would pass muster."

"No, I'm not comfortable with a redaction. Just have legal reprint the document minus that contingency. How much time can it fucking take to just go in, delete one line, and reprint?"

"Yes, sir. I'll let legal know."

"Good. Anything else?"

"No, sir. It's actually been a quiet day."

I snicker. "I don't like quiet. It always precedes chaos. I'm taking the weekend off but I'll be connected all day tomorrow if anyone needs to reach me."

"Understood."

I disconnect the line, wondering where Roz disappeared to and if I should be worried. On the whole, she was as dependable as they come but when her love life went to shit, she was useless. Fortunately, it didn't happen very often."

About to make another call, my phone alerts me to an incoming one. I glance at the screen: my mother. "Yes, Mom?"

"Christian, I want you and Ana to come to brunch tomorrow for my birthday celebration."

"What time would you like us to arrive?"

"Eleven would be fine, sweetie. See you then."

One thing I've always appreciated about my mother is her brevity. She doesn't waste time on useless chatter. She says what she needs to say and gets on with things. I'm the same way.

A knock at the door refocuses my attention. I recognize the familiar tap-tap as Taylor's. "Come in."

"You wanted to see me, sir?"

"Yes." I push my chair back to get up from my desk and walk around to Taylor. "Now that I'm seeing Ms. Steele on a regular basis, she's going to need round the clock security."

"No problem, sir. I can assign Sawyer to her."

"Good." An awkward pause follows—I'm not sure how to explain myself succinctly. "It's somewhat… it's a little sticky in that I don't think she'll appreciate the constant company, so I'd rather have him shadow her, protecting her from a distance, than act as a conventional bodyguard."

"That won't be a problem for Sawyer, sir. He's trained as a covert operative and has the ability to follow undetected."

I nod my head, satisfied as always by Taylor's can-do attitude. "Any other matters we need to discuss?"

Taylor shakes his head. "Apart from the alarm on your terrace door that was acting hinky when we tested on Tuesday, not much. The security firm sent someone right away to replace the wiring and it's fine now. Other than that, it's been quiet."

My sarcastic snort of laughter is carried on a loud huff of breath. "You're the second person to say that to me today. You know what they say about quiet—the calm before the storm, waiting for the other shoe to drop, etc?"

Taylor smiles, parting with a comment only he could get away with. "Don't look for trouble, Mr. Grey," and he exits the office. I check my watch. Have I given Ana enough time to rest? I'm still semi-hard and it will take very little to turn into a raging hard-on. I think it's time to claim my reward.

I find her twisted on the bed, her sexy tits thrust up in the air but, alas, covered by a chemise. Her nipples are poking through the thin material, trying to escape, and I tiptoe over and take one in my mouth right through the fabric. She wakes with a start and I look up as I continue to suck her. When Ana is horny her eyelids drift halfway closed, and she gets a dreamy look in her eyes: the most sensuous bedroom eyes I can imagine.

I move to the other tit, nipping at the tip, which earns me a throaty moan. That moan communicates directly with my cock, and I feel it straining to get loose of its zippered prison. Her slender hand travels from my abs down to my crotch and she rubs my cock through the trousers, the friction exciting me almost to the point of no return. I grasp her hand to arrest her progress before I come way too prematurely.

Leaning over on one knee, I begin to remove her clothing. "You should have gotten naked before your nap, Ana."

"Anything worth having is worth working for," she breathes out.

"Don't you mean worth waiting for?" I hunker down to her, my face inches from hers and I kiss her again, our tongues waltzing. Her mouth is fucking sweet and I love to kiss her. She tries to pull back but I don't let her, not until I've had my fill. She tries again and I allow it for she needs a breath.

"That too," she says, breathless. "Now answer me one question."

I look at her, waiting.

"Are you ever going to fuck me already?"

Now isn't she just fucking perfect, a girl after my own heart? I need no further invitation, my hand already on my zipper, jerking it down to let my cock spring out. Almost manic, I tear off the rest of her clothes, flip her on her belly, hitch up her ass, and bury myself to the hilt in one hard thrust. She shrieks as I close my eyes and enjoy the sensation. Tight, wet, hot, I want to explode everything I have inside her. On the heels of that thought I realize I'm not wearing a condom and I yank out as fast as I got in.

"What's wrong?" she asks, craning her head around to look at me, her long hair cascading down and giving me all sorts of ideas.

"I forgot to suit up, baby."

"I'm covered birth control-wise. If you've behaved yourself while we were apart, you can go bareback. If not, suit up, as you say."

"There's a polite way of asking if I've had other lovers. I assume if you've had any, you would insist on a condom for my protection. Am I correct?"

"Correct."

"Good," I say as I ram into her again. Fuck, she feels incredible. After a few moments, I flip her onto her back, hook her knees over my shoulders, and sink into her again. "Ahhh, Anastasia," I whisper in her ear. It's more than her name to me... it's a declaration of sorts.

"You know my name?" Her voice is soft... shocked.

"I know your name," I all but moan. "I love your name..." I want to say more but my throat begins to constrict and I'm not sure why.

I fuck Anastasia all night, not allowing her to go to sleep till after one a.m. I've been ignoring every erection I've gotten since we've been apart and they're all catching up with me tonight because I've got a hot naked woman in my bed. I've made her come twice with my tongue and once with my dick. I tried sweet-talking her into anal but she held firm to her refusal—I did get a finger in that sexy little back hole. It's fucking tight and I want my cock in there.

I wake up at six and start kissing her again. When her eyes open, I put my hand on her head, gently but firmly nudging her down. "Suck me," I whisper softly but without disguising the command. I can't resist testing her for submissive sexuality. With Ana I get mixed signals—sometimes submission arouses her; other times it makes her angry. I'm hard pressed to figure her out but since I get off on my dominance, I sometimes force her into the submissive role and hope she likes it.

She allows me to push her down and immediately latches on to my dick—it's hard but not as hard as it's going to be in about sixty seconds with that warm, silky tongue sliding across and around it.

I close my eyes, one hand remaining on her head to guide her. A Dominant never allows the submissive to control; since the power normally resides with the person performing the oral sex, by holding and guiding her head, I take some of it back. It's about the only control I have with her and I'm not letting it go.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: For those of you who've read Ripple Effects (this same story only from Ana's POV), this chapter begins the all-important seven-month separation that everyone always wondered about.

Chapter 9

This weekend I found my bliss, the majority of it in bed with Ana. Fucking her is the best tonic for me right now. Yes, I'd like to explore a power exchange with her, but even without the kink, I find the sex we have more than satisfying. Ana's beautiful—body and spirit. She appreciates my body and what I do to her to make her feel good, and she has a hot, tight pussy that grabs hold of my cock and takes it on a wild ride every time. I don't care to examine any other reasons why I feel content—I'm just allowing myself to be in the moment.

Brunch at my parents' house could be characterized as usual: concurrently enjoyable and massively irritating. The food perfect, the weather faultless, and I have Ana by my side. My mother enjoyed her birthday celebration and appreciated the gift I gave her—a week at the most exclusive spa in the country. When Grace retires, I plan to donate enough money to have a children's wing named after her at the hospital where she's worked so tirelessly; meantime, I want to pamper her, the woman who raised me to be the man I am—the better parts of me anyway. The lesser traits can be left directly at my biological mother's door.

That was all the enjoyable.

The irritating came in the underdressed form of Fiona Stewart who got her skimpy knickers gnarled up over Ana's presence and went for blood. I ignored her as I always do since the woman's existence is insignificant. Stupid of me to fuck her last year but I'm not one to dwell on my mistakes nor live in regret. Better to quickly learn from them, never repeat them, and move the fuck on. It's just too fucking bad that Fiona remains friendly with my sister so she is frequently in my face. I approach with a laissez-faire attitude and it usually works. Today it did not.

As payback Ana made me spill my guts about my past with women. I'm not a talker; I'm a doer. But Ana, like all women, always wants to endlessly mine my past and talk about my lovers—or conquests, as I like to think of them. I gave her some insight into my personality by sharing about Cassidy. Out of the many women I've been with, Cassidy approached the title of girlfriend more closely than any others. Still, I never let her quite have it.

That conversation wasn't the best way to end a satisfying weekend but it didn't completely spoil it either. Come Monday I found myself in a good mood. My staff noticed too. Everyone kept asking me why I looked different and I realized it was because I was often caught smiling. It got to the point where I was actually getting annoyed, first with them, then with Anastasia for trying to change me and possibly succeeding. It didn't last anyway, the good mood.

By Tuesday I realize I have to go out of town. It is unavoidable. I need to go to DC and meet with several people we've hired to lobby for our interests in imposing new tariffs on imports from China. Current policy is making it very difficult for American companies to compete. In years past, we adopted a passive approach and got exactly nowhere. A proactive, aggressive stance is what's required. Accordingly we're hiring more lobbyists to advocate for new legislation that addresses the inequity. I need to confer with our people over strategy. It just can't be done effectively long distance and it's easier if Roz and I go to them.

Physical separation from Ana at the moment is a good thing, I've decided. Since she returned from Italy we haven't been apart for more than a workday. Here's a chance to put some distance between us, literally and figuratively. I sense the emotional component of our relationship becoming too strong; I've come to depend on her company and that's just not acceptable.

John Flynn tells me I'm sending out mixed signals.

" _Christian, you went to Milan, for Christ's sake, to make amends with Ana and get her back into your life. Now you're saying you want to put space between you. Do you see what you're doing?"_

" _Yes, I'm being sensibly cautious, John. What the hell is wrong with that?"_

 _I watched him as he removed his eyeglasses and squeezed the bridge of his nose. Reaching into his desk for his eyeglass case, he took out the cloth and began to clean the lenses. Stalling._

 _"Nothing is wrong with being cautious," he began. "But let me ask you this, Christian, and I want you to be brutally honest in your response: if someone with whom you were doing a business deal was vacillating as you are with Ana, would you continue to pursue the association?"_

 _No matter the effort I made, I could not pull my gaze from my shoes to look at him. He always paints me into these fucking corners where I'm forced to admit I'm wrong. Nothing more I hate to do._

 _The session doesn't go well; we reach an impasse over my behavior with regard to Ana. I do reach a conclusion: John Flynn's judgment is flawed in this matter._

 _..._

While I'm away, I don't take any of Ana's calls. I need time to process things and speaking to her muddies my thinking. Things are moving too fast for my comfort but my head is clear enough to recognize that I need to retreat. I know I've engineered the reconciliation but where Ana's concerned I seem to act irrationally. Not at all like my careful self. I fight hard for the right to be with her, to have a relationship with her, for her to be exclusive to me, and then when she acquiesces… I feel discomfited. I second-guess myself and ask myself why I did it? This isn't me. I don't want to be tied down.

So I decide to take this time away to sort it out. It is my unwavering belief that emotion makes one weak and tends to cloud issues that would otherwise be crystal clear. The few days I'm away don't help though. The only result it nets me is more confusion because I miss her terribly. At night I reach for her in bed and find only cool, empty sheets. I'm cold without her; I'm lonely without her. I miss her sparkle, the scent of her body, the silkiness of her hair, the warmth in my chest that her company brings me.

No. I only miss fucking her. That's all it is. That's all it fucking is and John Flynn can go to hell if he says otherwise.

As soon as I set foot on Seattle soil I make a beeline for her apartment. Anxiety flutters in my gut like a swarm of bees. She opens the door and gives me an enchanting smile. My breath starts to come easier, so I smile back.

It's all downhill from there. Stupid, stupid, stupid, I admit to her that I took some time away from her to think while on the business trip. I'm just not any good at this kind of thing and it sinks me to see the change in her eyes, in her body too, and I know the admission hurt her. Why must people always invest sexual relationships with emotion? And am I becoming one of them? The idea is anathema to me.

In retaliation for the insult, she demands that I share with her some of my background—she wants to know about my biological mother. It's steep revenge. When I speak about Catherine, it never fails to slam me down into a black slimy pit that's hard to climb out of without professional help.

Regardless, I do it.

"All right," I begin, "so… Grace is not my biological mother. Before my father married her, he was married to the woman who gave birth to me."

"What was your mother's name?"

"Catherine. At least that was her given name. After she and my father divorced, she changed her name to Renee and moved out of the country."

I take a moment to breathe, trying to chase away the demon feelings that talking about this always invites. I don't think anyone can understand what it's like to be rejected by one's own mother. Horrendous.

John's voice reverberates in my head: _Try not to take it personally._

Not take it personally? How can I not?

I tell her how my mother hated me. The shame scalds my skin and I wonder how I won't hold it against Ana for forcing me to say it.

I tell her how my father divorced her because of it, found me a new mother. A good mother… for his pathetic son.

But it took him five years. Five fucking damaging years enduring this wretched excuse for a mother.

The scars are indelible.

That's as much I can take, as far as I can go. She looks a little shell-shocked. When the silence grows too long, she speaks up.

"So you didn't take my calls or call me while you were away because you wanted to back off? This after you traveled all the way to Milan to get me? How does that make any sense, Christian?"

Her voice is shriller than normal so I know she's still upset. Maybe even more than when I first walked in. Is it because of what I told her? That now she finds me wanting?

I want to get the hell out of this apartment as much as I wanted to come here earlier. Instead, I stay put and answer her. If I flee now I could never return, never look her in the eye again.

"That's just it, Ana. None of it makes sense. I'm trying to figure it all out. And just to clarify: I didn't want to back off, as you say. I just thought it was a good time—since my business trip had forced us apart—to think, without the distraction of our… growing connection."

"A distraction, huh?"

Her voice hit a new high pitch and I know she's furious. Still, I'm unprepared for what comes next. "Ana, what? What's the matter?"

"What's the matter, you ask? Why don't you just leave now and you can have all the time you need to think? Get out, Christian. Now."

 _What? How dare she speak to me this way? She can't be serious._ "Is that what you want?"

The look on her face is paralyzing. Just like the time I sent her away, I realize I fucked up too badly, beyond salvaging. I try anyway. "Ana, I'm sorry if I said something to upset you. It wasn't my intention…"

"Christian, everything you've said since you called me has upset me. Now I'm done listening. I'm sorry you feel uncertain or whatever it is you feel about getting involved with me… or maybe that's not even it. Maybe it's something else entirely. I don't know. Either way, no one, even the most confident person on earth, wants to be continually rejected and I'm definitely no exception.

"I want you to leave and I don't think I want you to contact me again. You're not good for me, Christian… I'm not going to keep bleeding for you, do you hear?"

No, I have to fix this. I didn't like it without her; it was difficult to get her back. I must regain control. "Ana, you're overreacting. Please calm down."

"Grrrrr!" She stalks to the door, angrier than I've ever seen her, ever imagined she could be. I don't like it. She's holding the door open."Out. Now."

She's throwing me out. Me. Christian Grey. No one is permitted to treat me so disrespectfully. I'm an important man. I can ruin people with a single phone call.

I'll never see her again. This cannot happen. What do I do? I'm in the middle of the ocean and I don't know how to swim. I look at her again. The look on her face turns my blood to ice.

Futile. It's done. Without another word I walk out. The door slams behind me.

On the way home I refuse to think. I detour and head instead to the gym, hoping that Claude is around and can make time for me. Distraction is what I need, nothing more.

For the next two hours I endure a grueling regimen. Kickbox, run, punch a bag, end with a punishing swim and a hot shower. I feel moderately better but it's imperative that I keep my mind clear. Do not think about Ana, I instruct my brain. Focus on work to the exclusion of all else. Total shut out.

I go straight to my home office from the gym, tell Gail to serve me dinner at my desk, and I dive into paperwork awaiting my attention.

It's no use. After an hour of browbeating myself into not dwelling on Ana, that's all I'm doing.

She told me to _leave_. Rejected me. No one's ever said no to me before; no one's ever rejected me since…

My biological mother rejected me. She carried me for forty weeks, gave birth to me… and then hated me on sight. Rejected me. It was personal, very personal.

Now Ana has done the same. I won't forgive her. I'm walking away and I won't look back.

I don't need her—I have women conniving to get face time with me; I have submissives dropping to their knees in my path. Why should I accept Ana's cruel, even abominable behavior?

She didn't even allow me to defend myself.

I've never felt like this before. Empty. Grief-stricken. As if my reasons to live evaporated and blew away like dandelion fuzz. How do I vanquish these feelings? They cut too deep.

I need John Flynn. Now.

John devoted almost three hours to pulling me back from the edge of the black abyss. The next day I went to work and scheduled back-to-back meetings for the rest of the day into tomorrow. Tomorrow night dinner at Irina's—I need to review her architect's blueprints for her remodel of the north wing of her house—she never hires the contractor until I vet the blueprints. Wednesday I'm leaving for another business trip. I need to do some serious damage control at our East Coast office. Fortunately for me, business is commandeering my undivided attention.

It takes me over a week in New York to put things back on the right track. I am so pissed that it took me to have to travel to NY to have those fools do their jobs right. I have Frank by my side but had to leave Roz in Seattle to attend two important meetings that couldn't be rescheduled.

All activity stops when I step out of the elevator onto the 32nd floor. Our New York office is small, comprising two floors of a high-rise office building, floors 32 and 33.

I have to fire six people, hire two, and instill the fear of losing their jobs into the rest. The NY office is integral to the company at large since it handles all of GH's contractual business. Most of the GH attorneys are based here—it's why Frank as the head of legal usually accompanies me—and because of that we maintain a back office facility for data processing, in the main backing up hard copies digitally and either shredding or managing the paper flow, always with the aim of reducing our carbon footprint. What brought me here this week were documents handled through this office that never made it into the digital record. Not only do I need to find these files since they are part of a current merger, but I need to identify why this is the second time this problem has occurred. There is a breakdown in the process and I have to set it all straight before I could go back to Seattle. What that means is we need to review each step of the operation. Tedious and time consuming and not at all a productive use of my time since this is not a task for the CEO.

Every night I'm so exhausted I drop into a coma, only waking for the alarm clock the next morning. I get through the next week and a half in this manner. One of the admins, a woman named Sasha, comes after me with all her guns blazing. I briefly consider taking her to my hotel suite to fuck.

Instead I fire her. The woman pissed me off by making me uncomfortable in my own offices.

...

When I return to Seattle, I go straight to Irina's. It's Friday evening.

"Christian," she says, greeting me at the front door in a scandalous peignoir. "We're in full-swing BDSM mode downstairs. Your timing is absolute perfection.

"It wasn't an accident. Lead the way, Madame."

The dark energy invigorates me. I wonder if Tamani is among the submissives here tonight. Odds are excellent that she long ago landed with a Dominant—a lucky one at that—but if not, I'm taking her on a long and bumpy ride. Ana who?

I will not think of Anastasia tonight. Instead I will find a hot, willing submissive and I will bind her, flog her, whip her, fuck her, and wish her a goodnight. That's it. There's no Anastasia in the world anymore. The girl I knew ceased to exist once she rejected me.

The moment I enter the room, the throbbing bass of the music synchronizes with my heartbeat and I feel my blood heat up. The scent of perfume mixes and alchemizes with sweat, sex, even the musky notes of anxiety. The snap of whips on naked flesh accompanies the pounding beat. I feel my body begin to respond to the call of the wild. My blood thickens and my cock grows hard. My pulse quickens and respiration picks up.

As I move deeper into the room, I begin the hunt.

...

A small rock lies in my path on my way out and I kick it viciously. "What the fuck is wrong with me?" I say the words aloud first and only afterward worry that someone may have heard me. Casting a furtive glance around, I'm relieved that no one is about.

All it took was one sighting of her friend to ruin my evening. I found a girl, not Tamani, but another exotic beauty, one who Irina happily informed me happens to be a masochist. She is what I needed. As I watched another Dom trying to negotiate a scene with her, she caught my interested glance and was in the process of diplomatically extricating herself when Minx happened by.

That was all it took.

I knew immediately that Ana would be informed of my presence here tonight. If I scened with the submissive, she would hear of that too. I want Ana to know nothing of me, nothing of my life. I left shortly thereafter despite Irina's best efforts to keep me there.

I spend the night with a different mistress, one that is aged to perfection. Unfortunately generously indulging in this one gives me a hell of a hangover the next morning.

And I didn't fucking get laid.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N** : Hope this update makes you happy. We're in the all-important seven-month separation that a lot of you were waiting for from Ripple Effects.

On another note, if you're interested in getting news on my upcoming novels, please consider following me on FB and Twitter under Lulu Astor. I'm working on a new dark romance and my mystery is in the hands of an agent right now. Keep your fingers crossed for me. :)

Mrs. JSD, where are you? I miss you. To my guest readers: I'm sorry I can't respond to you. It's so frustrating that FF doesn't allow guest reviews to be answered. Please know that I read and publish them all and I appreciate the time taken to let me know what you're thinking.

Chapter 10

Crack!

The single tail doesn't dance so much as attack, leaving a red slash that will welt in seconds. The body that owns the skin flinches before relaxing into the scalding pain. As I watch her power through it, the beast in me is temporarily soothed. If I squint my eyes I can even imagine another body there, one with long, silky hair swinging down in dark waves over a lithe frame… her sexy voice screaming in pain yet wanting more.

It's not her.

This body is dark-skinned with lots of hard-earned muscle. Araceli is a tough girl—woman—and there's nothing remotely submissive about her either. She's purely a masochist and she's here in Irina's dungeon for pain and only pain. What many might consider unendurable agony is her drug of choice. Nor does she muddle her physical need with sex. For her, pain is the most direct route to a natural high. She thrives on the endorphins that arrive with the pain.

I'm here to deliver it to her.

I won't discuss, analyze, or even briefly contemplate my sudden celibacy—it's off-limits even to myself. Delivering physical battery artfully with the whip or cane of my choosing is an activity I will not forego, however.

It's why I'm here tonight, creating a canvas of welts and stripes on this female's back, ass, legs and occasionally tits. I must admit it's a beautiful painting.

The last time I was here, I left without gaining any satisfaction. The fact that I passed up an opportunity to get laid and possibly find a perfectly suited submissive all because of the probability that the Callahan woman would report my presence to her friend who shall remain nameless infuriated me to the point where I needed to take some action. The action I opted to pursue was to inform both my publicists as well as the PR agency my firm utilizes to delete Anastasia Steele from my meta-tag notifications. In doing so, the mention of her name online or in print would not be flagged and noted by my people and thus reported to Seth and others in Grey security.

Who would report it to me.

This step was huge for me since I am a person who finds it difficult to let go once something or someone reaches obsession level for me… and the young woman in question undoubtedly did. Therefore, asking my staff to delete her from my notifications was major, and it satisfied me.

For about five minutes.

Until I begin to wonder exactly what I'm missing. I push the questions out of my mind and focus on the task at hand.

...

Saturday arrives and I need to find new ways to distract myself. I start by getting up at dawn to run along the water. It's a six-mile run from the front of my apartment building to the bike path along the water's edge and down to the park where I sit to rest for a minute and back the same way or a slightly altered path. Same distance.

Almost as soon as I return home, Grace calls. My mother insists I come for brunch today. I do my level best to avoid it but she gets choked up when I tell her I'm too busy— _"…too busy to spend a meal with your parents, Christian?"_

So now here I sit. Scowling. To my right is Mia, gushing about her dissertation defense, going on about such a frivolous topic like quantum physics. When I'm in a better mood, I usually appreciate the dichotomy in my sister's personality: science geek on one hand, fashion hound on the other. Beautiful and vivacious in the main… but sometimes as serious as the grave and about as humorless (the latter, it's been pointed out, she and I have in common, no doubt inherited from some Puritan ancestor lurking somewhere in our bloodline). It all depends on when and where you catch Mia. I do enjoy how it throws people first meeting her.

But today my mood can only be described as black and shriveled like a charred carcass. Much of the reason why sits to my left: Elliott and his bimbo girlfriend. Who happens to be best friends and roommates with the woman who will remain nameless, the one who rejected me. The one I'll never see again. I refuse to.

As if their presence is not insult enough, they keep talking about her. My brother is just a simpleton but the woman is doing it very intentionally for my benefit. She knows that I don't want to hear about it, so she continues to bring it up and relishes it all the while, I might add.

"Australia?" I hear Grace say to Kavanagh. "Ana is becoming quite the traveler."

 _What? Australia?_ What the hell is she doing there? I stir my espresso and a third of the liquid sloshes over the delicate white and gold demitasse cup. Just as well. I find it hard to sleep on espresso, even if drinking it this early in the day. I do my best to ignore the conversation—I'm thinking about the problems Roz identified with Jetson, the company we're analyzing for a potential buyout. It operates in a niche market, mostly doing government contracts for NASA. One of the issues involves a requirement for SF 85 certification for all personnel, which is excessively time consuming.

"…involving her husband."

 _Husband?_ My jaw clenches so hard I think my teeth just fractured. I thought I had McEvoy take care of that for her. Damn the woman, she just ignores all of my edicts and does whatever the hell she wants. Just the word husband mentioned in relation to her makes my blood fire up from simmer to boil.

Now I'm tormented further by the screechy voice of the Kavanagh woman. "Kent went with her, of course, and turned it into a business trip so he could cover Ana's expenses. He just adores Ana and the feeling… it's very mutual."

She goes out of her way to angle her blonde head and look at me. I wonder, would it be considered impolite to strike a female guest at the dinner table? My mother would probably take exception. Still, pity I don't have my whip. I picture slicing it hard over that round little ass that has Elliott panting after her like a mongrel in heat and shutting her up but good. Well, she'd be screaming. Then again, if I'm imagining a whip, I may as well add a ball gag to the fantasy.

My bad mood does not go unnoticed by my parents. They keep exchanging those parental looks, the kind that say _I'm worried_ and answered with _so am I_. I find it beyond irritating so I clam up. If I'm not part of the conversation, it cannot affect me.

Finally the four-course brunch is over. I push away from the table, intending to come up with an excuse why I have to leave. Before I can get a word out my father calls my name.

"Christian, might I have a word with you?"

Why, I wonder? He sees my expression and shakes his head. "Am I asking too much, son?"

"No, of course not."

"Good. Come with me into my office."

We walk through the dining area to the common hall and down to the end where his study is located. The house has two halls that run the perimeter of the entire structure: one is centrally located and one is on the outer side and part of the interior courtyard, with the room windows facing it. Technically the hall is on the exterior but it has polished brick flooring, lighting and furniture. That's the one I'll take to leave directly from the office if I can manage it. No goodbyes and no more torture from Kavanagh.

"Come in, Christian."

I follow him through the door and he gestures for me to sit down on the small tufted leather bench. He sits across from me. I wait, trying to be patient, for him to get to the point.

Carrick leans forward, his hands clasped between his knees. This is his concerned father position. I fear I'm in for an extended paternal lecture. "Christian, want to tell me what's going on with you?"

 _No, I don't. But I don't dare say that to my father. Instead I play dumb, knowing it's futile but doing it anyway._ "What do you mean? I have a lot going on at work."

"Son, you always have a lot going on at work. That's not what I'm asking you. This… well, it seems to be more personal in nature. Is it Ana?"

"What exactly is _it_ , the thing to which you're referring?"

"Christian, you've been in a snit for the past few weeks. You're cranky beyond all measure and are displaying your old anti-social tendencies. I'm concerned. Your mother and I both."

"Cranky?" I almost smile. "I'm not a toddler who needs a nap, Dad. I just have a lot on my mind."

He leans back in his chair and considers me. Now I know where I get that from and it's an excellent tactic to use in business to unnerve your opponent. I don't appreciate when it's directed at me though.

"All right. How is Ana anyway? Are you two still seeing each other?"

I sigh. Might as well get it over with since it's not going to go away until I do. "No, we're through, Dad."

"So that explains your moods, I suppose."

"What moods? Mom insisted I come today when I have a lot to do. To make matters worse, I had to sit there and listen to the drivel of that insufferable woman Elliott's dating, which didn't do my so-called mood a bit of good. Now I'm being interrogated and I'm just anx—"

"Interrogated?" he interrupted. "For Christ's sake, Christian, you're having a chat with your father. I'd hardly call it an interrogation."

I say nothing, trying to keep my face placid but probably failing. I want to go home.

"Look, Christian, I just want to know everything's OK with you. If you say it is, then that's good enough for me. It's just that…" he trails off.

"It's just what?" I have to ask, not only to be polite but because I have to know.

He presses his lips together, a look of concern etched on his face. "It's just that you looked so happy when you were with Ana. We'd hoped that… well, that it would work out."

I can feel the heat of rising anger crawl up my spine and I need to get out of here. _Reassure him and then fly_. "Dad, it didn't but honestly everything is going well. By the end of summer things will slow down a bit at work and I'll be able to take a break, maybe do some traveling. Right now I'm just swamped and I don't want to screw things up because I'm distracted."

Nodding, Carrick says, "OK, if you say so, then it's fine. I'll let your mother know. She was worried about you too."

"Please let her know. I'm going to leave the back way, Dad, if you don't mind."

"I do mind. Come say goodbye to your mother rather than skulk out the back."

I can't help my glower but I dutifully obey him. It's not too bad. Grace is on her second or third mimosa and she's in a good mood. I give her a kiss and hug. "Thanks, Mom, for a delicious brunch. I'll see you next week at the golf course, right?"

"Oh, that's right. Yes, you will, darling. Don't work too hard."

I hide my smile over her slightly slurred words. Grace cannot hold her liquor. I know someone else who can't either but she's the nameless one. The instant she passes through my brain my momentary good mood evaporates like soda bubbles going flat in seconds. I beat a hasty retreat before I have to say my goodbyes to the sickening duo on the terrace. Mia has already escaped the party.

...

I drive fast. She's on my brain again, thinking of her in Australia with Kent. What hold does she have on the man anyway? He's fucking gay. Why the hell is he always crawling up her ass… and why did I have to think of that phrase because now I have unpleasant images in my head that I'd rather not have.

I want to be crawling up her ass if anyone is, motherfucker.

No. She fucking rejected me. Who the hell does she think she is anyway?

My life is so insulated by my wealth and position that it's a miracle she even met me. I don't generally get to meet people outside my small world. Even women. Especially women. The fact is, she wouldn't have met me if I hadn't been forced to babysit Elliott that night. I would have come later for the second, more entertaining part of the evening and accordingly would never have seen the little virgin.

Fuck.

...

Smack in the middle of a fucking rotten day my parents show up to take me to lunch. I can't fucking believe it. After an important meeting went belly up, I go into the conference room to intensively number crunch with Ted, the head of accounting and Frank from legal. Our figures hold up but that's not what I'm hearing from the current CFO and I'm not sure who's screwing up but I'm pretty damn certain it's not us. My admin texts me to inform me my parents are in the lobby and I text her back, telling her to show them into my office to wait for me.

I'm returning there when I hear the conversation. I feel guilty for eavesdropping but justified since they're talking about me. I had no idea that John Flynn had already arrived for our session. Bad timing all around but it would have been nice if my parents had given me a heads fucking up.

Grace is speaking to John Flynn now.

"…he really liked her. Yes and Carrick… she was."

Damn it. Grace speaks too softly.

"Grace, Carrick, you know I can't discuss a client with you, even if you are his parents."

"No, we understand," Carrick speaks up. "It's just that he's showing signs of retreating from other people, something he used to do as a young child. We're concerned about him, that's all."

"Thank you. I'll be vigilant about it. That's all I'm willing to say."

"That's fine, John," Grace says. "I'm sorry… bad spot… worried and thought the…it best."

They're talking about my so-called mood. I'm not retreating into my own world. I run a fucking Fortune 500 company, for God's sake. I have to deal with a multitude of people every single day of my life. What the hell do they want from me? I don't need some woman, some silly girl whom I never should have even met but for a quirk of fate, to complete my life. Besides, my personal life is my own business, for fuck's sake.

Needless to say, lunch is a pretty miserable affair.

...

I have her naked and bound on the St. Andrew's cross. In my hand is my favorite six-foot single tail. Her flawless skin beckons to me, my blank canvas. I can't wait to put my marks on it. Maybe even a design? I raise my whiphand, crack the tail, and bring it down against her round, plump backside. It slashes across the pale skin of her right ass cheek, leaving a thick red line in its wake. Her resulting scream is bloodcurdling and it makes me fucking hard. I'm a monster.

I give her a matching stripe on the left and drink in the next shriek, watch her violently flinch away but she has nowhere to go: her wrists and ankles are bound tightly. Her pussy, on the other hand, is in easy reach.

Dropping the whip, I stalk over to her, pulling her pelvis away from the cross and crawling between her legs so I'm facing her. My tongue begins tormenting her clit, round and round until she begins to moan. I stop to watch it become engorged—it must be uncomfortable.

Perfect. I return to my whip for another round.

I give her four more with the whip and then run my hands all over her body to increase the burn.

"Christian," she says in a pleading voice and begs for me to stop.

I don't.

I have to punish her—first for not heeding my directives, second, for rejecting me.

How dare she? I'm Christian Grey. I'm an important businessman. I'm not the sniveling little boy my mother couldn't stomach. Thousands depend on my decisions for their livelihood. Who is she, some little slip of a girl, to reject me? I can have any woman I want any day of the week. I have to make her understand.

"Christian, fuck me," she whispers in a husky tone.

I give a little sarcastic chuckle in her ear. I want her to know she's not manipulating me successfully. She wants my cock. My cock wants her too but I won't give it to her. Allowing her orgasms will ruin the punishment; I have to leave her frustrated but I'm not done yet. I untie her from the cross and carry her to the bed.

"Give me your wrists." She complies instantly and my dick tightens. It's so hard I could probably roll a coin on it. I lash her wrists to the bedposts and then do the same with her ankles so she's sitting up, legs spread wide. When she's all trussed up I kneel in front of her on the bed and push my cock between her soft lips. "Suck me, Ana."

She parts those luscious lips and allows me to slide my cock into her warm, wet mouth. It feels glorious and I can't stop myself from pumping. She gags and I give her a minute but start up again. She gags again and I reprimand her. Before long I'm pumping again and this time I won't be able to stop myself. I go harder and faster. I can see her eyes widen in fright: it's because I won't allow her to control the blowjob with her hands—she can't stop me from deepthroating her… from gagging her with my hard cock. I can't hold back any longer. I shove all the way in and let go. My come pumps right down her throat and I see and feel her muscles working hard to swallow the big load.

Now it's time to drive her crazy with frustration. I position myself between her legs and get started. I lick her so softly that she won't be able to get off. "Harder," she cries. I go a little harder but I slow way down. Again she mewls with frustration. "Faster, Christian. Please."

I go faster again but lighten the pressure to almost non-existent. Still I feel her leg muscles begin to tighten so I pull away. She cries out. "Stop doing that."

I don't listen. After two minutes pass by and I'm sure the orgasm has receded, I start again. This time I use the right speed and pressure but I don't go close enough to her clit. Again she whines and I want to laugh. Did she think the whip was all the punishment she'd get? She made me want her and then rejected me. That's a crash and burn offense.

I stop to look at her pussy. Her swollen clit is throbbing and trying desperately to get my attention, protruding as much as possible, practically waving at me. She's so close to coming that one false move on my part and her punishment will be over.

I could whip her pussy? That way she'd probably come but it wouldn't be as enjoyable since it would come with pain. I stand up, looking for the crop. Where is it?

I find it on the dresser and return to her quickly, tapping the crop on the palm of my hand to show her. "This is the only way you're getting off, Ana. It will hurt. Do you want it?"

"Yes, please, yes."

My dick is hard again. I strike her with the crop, starting at her ankle and work my way up across her hip to the other leg and down. I do it again, each time getting closer to the motherlode. When I'm just about there, I leave off and go up to her tits, circling each before delivering a stout whap on each nipple. She yells out and her nipples swell and grow rosy very quickly. I know it hurt. Feeling like a rock in my pants, my dick is going to explode in my jeans.

I begin to work my way down, starting between her breasts and leaving a trail of small, angry red marks. Just before I reach her clit, I glance at her face, seeing a mixture of fear and desire in her eyes, and it makes me smile… right before I bring down the crop on her clit at full force. I've never heard such a scream before. Her eyes glaze over as I watch her come, anxious now to get inside her. Her scream goes on and on and it changes tenor.

It drops in volume and changes to a whine, a monotone moan, and just doesn't stop. It keeps going on and on, and I squeeze my eyes shut. When I peel them open I realize it's the alarm clock.

Not Ana.

A dream. What's not a dream is my very real hard-on, painful now. I slap my fist down on the snooze bar, trying to get back into the dream but it's no use. The alarm ripped into the lovely fantasy and tore it to shreds. I didn't have Ana under my tongue at all. I didn't punish her at all. She doesn't want me at all.

Ana's in Australia with Kent; she's there to visit her husband.

The thought makes me feel murderous and the only cure is to fuck her hard, fuck her so hard it exhausts me. Since she's in Australia, that's impossible. My money can't fix this problem and it's enraging me to no end. Time to head over to the gym and beat some poor punching bag into submission. The clock reads 6 a.m. My first meeting is at 8:45. I text Claudia to reschedule it and get into a scorching hot shower.

The gym will help; exercise always helps. For a while. But what I really need is to dominate a girl and get laid. The problem for me is there's only one little pussy I want— _my_ little pussy that's only been had by me. It belongs to a woman who will remain nameless.

She's on the other side of the world. Fuck me.


End file.
